Tag Archives: science

Truly Madly Deeply

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I am the nightmare that nightmares are afraid of.

Why?

Why me?

A month and a day after we buried my father.

Agony does not begin to describe my feelings of loss.  Fear of the future.  Longing for lost moments when my father and I seemed to float in complete silence, not saying a word but having the type of father-son relationship everyone wishes for but rarely receives.

So many “buts,” “ands,” and “ifs.”

If only I had paid more attention to the change in his skin colour.

And what about the sharp twist in his diet?

But I could have been there more often at the end…

But I wasn’t.

And there are no more moments alone with my father, watching the world swim by.

If, if, if…

Can a monster cry?

Can a being such as I am, constantly hungry, forever thirsty, shed a single tear?

Look at me, a stranger in a strange land, traveling with the most unusual companion to ever spend time with me, never once cringing in fear or running away.  In fact, this small creature cares for me more than my mother ever did.

Mothers like mine weren’t born to nurture.  It’s like, “Look, honey!  I’ve got a bunch of fertile eggs, thanks to your sperm.  Let’s give them the world, let them learn lessons the hard way, fight for their future, just like us.  Swim, my little ones, swim!”

Do you know what it’s like to be cold and all alone, no parent to guide you, no siblings to watch out for you?

You think you’ve got problems?

Imagine you’re a tiny fruit fly in a big rain forest.

Or a little squid in a vast ocean.

There’s not a lot of room for love in situations like that.

So you can see why I became the monster that I am.

I only know an eat-or-be-eaten world.  There is no live and let live.  Or “if you’re not with the one you love, love the one you’re with.”

Yet, I’ve got these feelings I’ve never had before.

Sure, I’ve had my share of chemical attractions and mating dances with those of my species.

But this time…

I don’t know.

Can it be possible?

Can a nightmare feel love?

Can a horrible, nasty, ravenous One, a type of Cthulhu or Chupacabra, a Shiva or Hades, have “feelings of an almost human nature?”

I may be foul and was birthed in the unspeakable depths but I am educated.  I have heard the strains of your species’ music playing through the murky waters of my adopted home beneath the currents swirling around your planet, far from my birthplace in what you could only describe as the pits of Hell.

We shall see.

As long as this delicate creature keeps me fed, I do not care.  She is my maid, my cook and my devoted servant.  For that, she deserves not only my thanks, but a bit of compassion.  Should I find myself starving, she won’t be the first one I’ll eat, I promise you that.

I put these thoughts into the fingers of the person writing this story for you.  He is my slave, whether he knows it or not.  Your species is so easy to influence, it’s almost embarrassing to take over your world.

But who’s going to stop me?

Who’s going to notice me laying my own fertilised eggs in the fountains of your city?

Who’s going to see my little hatchlings adapt to chemically-poisoned water, what you would call approved fluoridated and chlorinated tap water?

Who’s going to watch me transform my next eggs into species that emulate the invisible germs that crawl in and out of your body without a bit of worry from you?

This isn’t Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

I’m not here to steal your resources or farm your bodies and your livestock for my planet in a nearby arm of the galaxy.

No, it’s much simpler than that.

I’m here to become you.

I’m here to turn this planet into one big, happy version of me.

Some will call me Gaia.  Some already have.

Don’t compliment me too easily.

You see, I’m going to eat a lot of you before this planet is mine.

Then, one day, after I’ve slithered and slipped into your food chain, I’ll get bored.

I’ll want to expand again, explore another part of your solar system, stretch my tentacles ever so quietly into an unsuspecting ecosystem.

But there’s a long time, relative to your lifespans, before that day arrives.

Meanwhile, I have a lot to accomplish.  Outposts to settle.  Supply lines to defend, that sort of thing. (I’m not the only one of me in the galaxy, you know.  Some of us are a lot less educated and a bit more eager to feed our constant appetite.)

I thank you for reading this, whatever you call it, a “blog?”  Sounds like one of my kind.  Blog?!  Ha! Ha!  Arrrgh!  My name is Blog and I’ve come to eat your dog!  Here me stomping through your bog!  Boom!  Boom!  Ah, hahahahahaha!

Foam Bow Tie

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Would you wager a bet — your life’s savings — to support a project that produced ten results, only one of which was successful, a 10% success rate?

The ROI for your wager is your name and your family’s names on a plaque.

The plaque is attached to a landing craft.

The adult travelers inside the craft all die.

The eggs and embryos survive, grow and carve out a niche in the new landscape, the mini-ecosystem of the landing craft, unable to decipher, let alone pronounce the names on the plaque.

But former inhabitants of Earth have found a way to live on another celestial sphere.

That, alone, was the accomplishment of this current millennial-long civilisation we propagate and perpetuate.

More than any other civilisation before ours.

More than any other species or ecosystem.

The sole goal of life, to reproduce itself in whatever form the environment will tolerate in the eat-and-be-eaten cycle of life.

What if we sent that one-out-of-ten-success craft in a few decades from now, achieving the goal by slowing down global consumption of raw materials for a short period — several years, a couple of decades — until we jumped back into our fast dash for the latest gizmos, gadgets, family gatherings and after-hours parties?

Sure, pretty much most of us will keep supporting the rise and fall of family fortunes, business empires and geopolitical zones (a/k/a governments), because only a few lucky souls will qualify for climbing aboard the ten launch vehicles and only one craft will carry our species’ passengers all the way to another planetary body, acting as couriers.

The survivors of the craft will exist as if they live in a parallel universe, unaware of our continued great accomplishments on Earth:

  • Our medical breakthroughs, such as the extension of a healthy person’s life into a third century of high-quality daily activities.
  • Our flying cars, floating cities and other dreams of days gone by fully realised.
  • Totally-connected thought patterns via new technology, letting those who want no privacy or have no secrets to hide to join the Hive and move our species forward/backward/sideways as one.

Our civilisation will go on for countless decades, business cycles and climate changes, prospering in the ebb and flow of new ideas that counter prevailing ideas.

Optimists and pessimists will support or deny the direction we take, without fail.

In the interim, our celestial cousins are recreating the paradise of Earth elsewhere.

You and I will never know with certainty whether our actions contribute most to the growth of life off this planet or life on this planet, regardless of the perceived benefit/detriment of our actions in the moment.

We are who we are, doing what we do to enhance our survival within the social net we’ve spread over Earth, extending tiny threads outward into space, just in case this net eventually collapses.

We can be plumbers, fashion designers, mechanics, midlevel managers, lab techs, airplane pilots, business angels or primary school students.

We create futures we see and futures we cannot imagine possible.

We may solve mathematical conundrums at age 15 or not be able to balance a checkbook, or both.

But we will find a way to move Earth-based lifeforms, including synthetic beings designed for harsh conditions on other worlds, into and out of our solar system.

The Voyager spacecraft series is one example.

The Beagle 2 is another.

So, too, Venera 9.

Is one of those or a new craft the single container that harbours beings which will adjust to their new environment and thrive?

Would a recent university graduate with a mathematics major be the one who makes a difference in which craft is the one that represents our achievements up to a point in time on Earth but for millions of years later on a different planet?

There’s only one way to find out — live in the moment with an eye on the future, using the collective wisdom of your [sub]culture as a guide, trusting your instincts to know which elders are the ones with you, your subculture, and the future of your species in their best interests.

Don’t forget to have fun.  Wear a giant foam bow tie to a corporate board meeting, your wedding or your child’s secondary school graduation ceremony.

Ever wonder…

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…why we spend billions/trillions of dollars on drone killing [alleged] members of al Qaeda in Pakistan, Yemen and Afghanistan, who are responsible, at most, for a few thousand dead one time in the U.S. (and a few billion dollars in [re]construction costs) but we seem to make no effort, on any advertised regular basis, to drone kill those in Mexico and other countries south of the U.S. border who are responsible for the loss of thousands of U.S. lives yearly and billions upon billions of dollars in lost wages, sick leave, hospital healthcare costs, and untimely early deaths due to the [illicit] drug trade?

…why Ray Bradbury waited until the day after the Venus transit to die?

…why species migration/extinction is “bad” rather than par for the course in Earth’s history? [assuming, for the sake of this argument, we are no more important a species on this planet than any other]

…why we aren’t working faster to build an Ark to set up alternative colonies on the Moon and Mars?

…why block-shaped rooms are popular forms of internal living habitats for many of us, when our bodies are not block-shaped?

…why a government that tries to stabilise the population for the sake of the leaders and the leaders’ supporters by controlling what people can and can’t say in public discourse is considered censorship but no government is great/strong enough to stop the Sun from shining?

…why we have to make sense at all when all civilisations are bound to fail, no matter how civilised we tried [not] to be to each other as one generation followed another into history?

…why three dots indicate [a lack of] continuity?

…why we spend so much time and money on blogs and other avenues of entertainment like these in the moments of idle distraction between the times we need to eat, sleep, and protect ourselves from inclement weather, instead of doing something else?

…why “why” is “why” and not some other word, sound, or set of states of energy to question why?

…why the Wandering Wondering meditates?

Are you a Venusian or Venetian by trade? Surely not Vitruvian!

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Yesterday, as a temporary volunteer to help the Von Braun Astronomical Society promote the joy of observing the cosmos (in this case, seeing the silhouette of the transit of Venus across the surface of our local star), I observed us.

By the hundreds.

Young, single men and women.  Families.  Divorcees.  Single moms.  Weekend dads.  Widow(er)s.

Dressed in business clothes and casual summer attire.

Using solar filtered, paper framed glasses to look at the tiny orange ball heating the air and ground around us, squinting to see the even tinier black dot traversing the surface.

Thank goodness we had telescopes a-plenty and a video broadcast to the nearby big screen TV to share larger images of the planetary alignment.  A tabletop sun magnifier that showed sunspots on a piece of paper.

Jeff, Debbie and other VBAS volunteers were wonderful.  The teacher who dropped off 50 paper solar glasses we thank, too.  The folks at the Davidson Center on the grounds of the US Space & Rocket Center performed their usual duties flawlessly.

Hopefully, a few young people were inspired to pursue a career in science, technology, engineering and/or math, applying future skills one day in areas as diverse as sewer/chemical remediation and planetary exploration.

I hope it inspires someone to create a kid-safe high-powered telescope because telling children, “No!  Don’t touch the telescope!,” “Don’t lean on the table!,” and “Don’t point those binoculars at the Sun!” probably turned some children off from the fun of looking at stars, galaxies and planets at night rather than grabbing their easily-acceptable, childproof video gaming equipment.

A nod to local news broadcast crews for their remote setups to help promote the Venus transit event.  Without your interest and time on the air, many not have known what was going on — education is a culturewide participatory subject.

Bury the Curmudgeon, not the Man

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In business, as well as real life, we make decisions based on evidential test results.

In real life, we made decisions based on opinions, dreams, imaginations and occasionally facts.

So it is with grieving the loss of my father in the rest of my natural life.

He lives on here — in recorded memories and anecdotes, photos and videos, audio files and books — the cybersphere.

I mentally cried in my thoughts up until yesterday, making it…oh, about two and a half weeks of heart-wrenching solace and mourning.

Now, I live with him as a reminder, a silent, unspeaking totem on an imaginary column standing invisibly behind me.

The good and the bad, the kind-hearted elder and the stern disciplinarian wrapped in fading memories.

In other words, I personify the genetic and nurturing elements of a man toward his son, his eldest child.

My father’s influence upon others started at his birth, with most, if not all, who nurtured him now gone, too.  His best friend of 73 years still lives, his neighbourhood playmate, classroom buddy and adult confidant.  His wife of 55+ years — my mother — is quite much alive, although in mental pain as she reconciles the loss of a dear friend and husband, the father of her children.

I am no longer a child.  Bigger problems than the loss of a parent push in on my thoughts but they are not more important.

How do we tell readers that the situation in Syria is merely a place for the national production of weaponry to turn a tidy profit, loss of lives a necessary component of the process?

There’s always some hotbed of violence we can use to our species’ economic advantage.  More people die from person-to-person combat between people who know each other — gunshots, knife stabbings, choking, burning, poisoning — than all terrorist attacks combined.

After all, “terrorist” is a label we reserve for “them,” not amongst ourselves.

The brother who stabs me is not a terrorist — he’s just a close relative with an anger management issue and a drinking problem — unless he gets the attention of the media ahead of time and becomes notorious, shooting off his mouth about socially-unacceptable concepts and ideals.

But we know all that already.  New crops of journalists, editors and publishers seem not to — they just as easily fall prey to the idea of perpetuating extremist thinking for a profit that also divides the political opinions of the majority of Americans, for instance.

Anyway, I digress.

After a discussion with the Committee, I’ve decided to share with you more of the products coming out of our laboratory and into a grocer’s market near you:

  • DNA tracking devices disguised as cereal flakes and coffee beans/grounds
  • Chemical hypnotic material mixed into charcoal briquets that are released at high temperature, used at backyard BBQ events to turn whole crowds into well-organised mobs when the need arises
  • Bacteria in ice cream and other products in the frozen goods department that activate at body temperature, lodging in people’s bodies at strategic locations; can be turned into cancerous growths with a certain level of mobile phone radio signal strength exposure.

Well, that’s all for now.  The use of comic literary devices is all about timing.  We’ll save the rest of the items for a more perfect moment.

Happy eating!

Do not combine “6,” “four”, “nineteen,”eighty,” and “9” together in one sentence

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With only 13,850 days to go until the next major milestone is reached (there, of course, are bonuses should we complete any of the many minor assignments for the milestone ahead of time), let us look at the theories of the day and ponder their implications…

In previous decades, we could ruin the reputation of guns-for-hire or “secret agents” by outing them — exposing their homosexual trysts/relationships through a mass media leak.

Times have changed.

It takes more than outing a spy to turn the spy into a criminal.

These days, we have to claim the operative is a cannibal.

Hey, go with the flow.  If zombie films and zombie apocalypse shows on the tellie are popular, then take advantage of the zeitgeist and make spies zombies amongst us.

That’s why we turned a “Canadian” agent into a flesh-carving and eating zombie.

It would have been a lot easier to send photos of him with his Chinese boyfriend, a double agent himself, to a television talking head but *YAWN* the producers would have said, “So what?,” and parked the pics in the morgue.

Instead, hire a body-double, stage an Internet viral video or two, send a few body parts to government offices and next thing you know you’ve turned a useless rogue agent into a grotesque mockery of a good cover story of a porn star trying to infiltrate the snuff film industry.

Thing is, we in the government are a little short of cash right now.  Anyone want to buy the film rights to this soon-to-be blockbuster quadrilogy that makes the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo look like a baby’s bedtime story?

James Bond may like fisticuffs but our new fictional psychopathic agent will do whatever it takes, including consuming his victims, to serve Queen and Country.

“O Canada, we stand on guard, we stand on guard for thee…”

Meanwhile, in a test of the possible terrorist spread of tropical disease (Chagas, etc.), we released genetically-modified bedbugs into luggage traveling through busy airports — Denver, Munich, Beijing, and Moscow (we tried London but their security is locked down tight ahead of the Queen’s rainy reign anniversary and the 2012 Olympics).

We tracked the bugs, which are invisible, pure black boxes, under UV and infrared light, only visible through the radiation detectors installed in popular mobile phones, to see how reasonable to believe such a terrorist threat could be.

Strangely enough, we’ve caused a quiet epidemic of dandruff.

Ahh…the unintended effects of a fielded theoretical experiment.

We don’t dare tell you what happened to the irradiated fibers we placed in bus and train seats last year…

Oh, I’m back in the saddle again…

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Amazing, what a few days mean in the life of one species.

Part of the annual cycle of life here locally, for instance — the little “sugar” ants have found their way into our kitchen sink like clockwork.

And who says astrology doesn’t work — why, the Earth’s position around the Sun is directly connected to these ants before me.

And the Moon-influenced tides…well, I’m sure if I traced the ecosystem connections I could find the tidal pools in the Gulf of Mexico have an indirect influence on the movement of species in and around this domicile.

Not sure about Venus aligning with Earth’s view of its transit across the face of the Sun, though.

But hey?  I’m just a bigger ant on this planet.  What do I know?

Pop music flows through my thoughts today, from this century and centuries past.

Dreams have flowed through my subconscious thoughts, dreams that center on my dead father and his last two months in a variety of healthcare facilities.  Just another shot.  How about one more day with him?  Have we considered this experimental treatment?  Or that one?  Were there any unkind words I said through the years that weighed down his thoughts in his last days?  Did he feel I neglected him recently?

Part of the healing process, no doubt.

A new crossroads in the road in front of me — I can choose “Happiness,” “Depression,” “Anger,” “Denial,” “Remorse,” “Regret,” or the one I plan to take, “Unknown.”

A bit overgrown.  Underused.  Neglected.  Quiet.  Secluded.

In other words, the usual path of mine.

Wandering in and out of the actions of my species.  You, me, us, as usual.

Synching back to my self’s syncopated rhythms, out of step and in tune with our social changes, our connections with the universe at large.

Thinking my thoughts, no matter how strange, weird or normal they may be, sharing a few of them here.

Conforming to (staying within the parameters set by) local laws to preserve my relative freedom from conformity.

Letting subcultures be — live and let live.

Competing in the marketplace of ideas when I feel like going up against adverts of marketing machines blaring deafening sounds and spouting subliminal messages.

So many stories to be told, like the young lady whose [great]grandparents’ home in Hamilton has been transformed for a new generation of nonfamilial owners.  Sound familiar?

Or watching the tiny facial twitches on the President when he gave a[n election season] speech for the unveiling of a previous President’s portrait.  How easy is it for you to be a mind reader then and predict the future?

We learn a lot when we learn alot about Camelot on the backstage lot.

Do kids still learn to type “These are the times that try men’s souls“?

Is there proper thumb-typing body posture or mobile phone use etiquette taught in schools these days?

When technology moves faster than generational education cycles, what is a generational education cycle for, that period of time we stop children from performing manual labour and coerce them into classroom settings between ages 4 and 24, just to watch many of them drop out of the cycle to return to ageless, aging manual labour practices?

In the days when everyone is more equal to everyone else than ever before, is it still safe to refer to the peasant class even where literacy rates are a nonissue and people still want to get their hands on simple, low-paying, physically laborious work, no matter how many memes float through their language-filled thoughts?

How [un]important are the economies of geopolitical zones we call countries like Italy, Greece, Portugal, Spain, and Ireland to the global economy at large?  What if we let them deteriorate into complete chaos?  Can we not wait to see the phoenix that rises from the ashes or are we too afraid to risk our investment portfolios to find out?

Why am I sitting here instead of enjoying the pleasant weather outside?

A-ha!  Finally, a question I can answer.  Time to close down this laptop and invite mosquitoes to savour the flavour of the blood-filled organ called my skin.

And remember: a fine, country dinner shared with David and Evelyn in their house overlooking a forested creek; pulling out bushes with David, Melinda, Melinda’s father and John; sorting through family memorabilia with Dan and Fay; Robbie, Aaron, and Christopher at the Rave; Martha at Carson’s Grille; Rogersville Produce Market; Debra, Pat and Veronica at Hales Spring Inn; Pals #13; Oh Henry’s; my blog-connected friends, and more…

A World of Ideas, or an Idea of Worlds?

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How much of what goes on in our species is necessary for you/me/us to go on?

How much more austerity is necessary for a place like Greece to endure in order to inspire real innovation for change?

Simply pouring government funds, part of which is covered in taxes, does not make those holding the vessel which collects the funds (users of the money) more efficient and thus profitable.

Terms like bonds, taxes, government treasury bills and loans float through the airwaves constantly.

And then a spacecraft, nicknamed Dragon (with many a symbolic meaning there), is grappled and floats in unison with the ISS.

Racecar mechanics race against time to prepare for the big race.

Race itself is a a term with many a symbolic meaning.

But these are words in one language.

We see terms, symbols, memes, languages, and other sets of states of energy as we see fit.

We may have a fit in the process.

The storyline of the Committee picks back up again.

We are 8.5 strong, adding PegLegs to the mix.  The 0.5 has grown into the 0.65, becoming more adultlike and responsible every day — when it reaches 1.0, we remove a member from the Committee.

Attrition may place its part ahead of time.

What’s next on the Committee’s agenda?

A balancing act, of course.

Expanding our knowledge and experience in the known universe, as usual.

Always weighed against personal loss.

Celebrating the simplest of events, like digging up an old boxwood bush with a shovel and cutter mattock.

Or welcoming the 1000th guest onboard a space hotel.

Today, we finished plans for the cruise ship that travels from Earth to the Moon and back again regularly.

Frequent launches from our planet to the cruise ship allows guests to spend time in space, with many dropping to the Moon for extended holidays and business trips.

Sure, a few find the travel inconvenient, wasting valuable time commuting between laboratories where robotic surrogates cannot complete assignments in ways that our species can.

We have not totally given over our toughest jobs to robots.

Robots have not totally resigned themselves to being outside the realm of our species’ capabilities.

Long ago, we crossed the threshold where the difference between cybernetic humans and robots with human body parts is indistinguishable.

Still, there are areas of the human brain that have not been fully duplicated.

We no longer call the synergy of these areas intuition.

Instead, we focus on the data complexity and efficiency of neuron transmission and information storage within a single brain, as well as the meme set carrying capacity of [sub]cultures.

A brain does not operate in a vacuum.

But students at age three already know this.

Why am I repeating myself, then?

Good question.

I chose not to enhance my central nervous system.

I am an old man, willing to face the deterioration inherent in brain cell loss and reduced cardiovascular functionality associated with a naturally aging body.

I have never lost the thought set of self-importance.  There is not a point in my narrative, like retirement or worker status/title, that indicates a change in my usefulness.

I can manage a group of hackers, police officers, counterterrorism agents and freedom fighters within the same brain.  I can create crime and prevent crime in the same sentence.

I can promote diplomatic solutions and bomb innocent villages between heartbeats.

I can act the dove and the hawk, the liberal and the conservative, at the same time.

The role of the Reluctant Leader in this storyline demands no less.

Happiness is sitting quietly, thoughts spinning in and out of consciousness.

Happiness is giving orders at a rapid pace that is still too slow to keep up with the seven billion thought sets that make up our species.

Forgetfulness is part of the solution, not part of the problem, a key variable in the equation of life.

We remember so that we can forget.

We forget so that we can remember.

We create wars in order to create warriors who become heroes who create peace which fosters a need to create wars again.

Have you wondered why someone could make a profit off the taxes you have to pay your government?

Shouldn’t the profit be used to refund your taxes, not create new taxes to be paid on profit earned or siphon taxes out of your local economy?

Austerity is just a word.

Just like poverty or prosperity.

Or planetary settlements.

Ideas.  Visions.

Were Spanish missions in California a mission from God?

What’s missing in that sentence?

Have geeks already inherited the earth?

Do proofreaders with pens scratch out a living?

Who is responsible to give you a job?

What is a job?

What is a living?

If the efficiencies of modern society eliminate the need for many of the seven billion of us, what do we do in the meantime?

Are we means-tested in realtime?  How do we create the sense of wellbeing — usefulness — when contract work and part-time jobs are the norm for the majority?

How many of us can handle the day-to-day competitiveness of us not only against each other, but also against the excess capacity of just-in-time automated manufacturing?  Or hoarded profit holdings?

Can you compete against the noise of everyday life, wanting just to be able to hear yourself, let alone find something to eat, clothes to wear and a place of your own to lay down your head and sleep?

If you had ten children, would you constantly ask, “If I only had food for two of my kids to survive, which ones would it be?”  Would you love the other eight any more or less?

What about two or three billion out of nine billion?

The Aftermath

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I never expected this moment, life after my father died, to appear within what seems like minutes past the last one, life after my wife’s mother died.

I have faced numerous roles I never imagined taking when I was a child.

I…well, that’s the problem right now — this concept of a self dominant in one’s thoughts.

I, me, my, mine.

Life is here in words because of this set of states of energy but it is not solely about the set (a/k/a me).

True, the genetic code set that contributed to the zygote which split into specialised cells that, 50 years later, became the creature which creates these sentences strung together, died recently.

That…which.   Which…that.

Social networks and memes stepped into the picture, too.

Influenced 17-year cicada cycles, helped spread their broods, changed their egg-laying territories.

Contributed to the concept of lawnmowing services.

Set the stage for multistage rockets to blast into space.

Turned children into industrial engineers.

Widened a path for the book Quality-Inspired Management to appear in the Amazon (website, not jungle).

Ended in happiness, not tragedy, inspiring us to populate the solar system plentifully.

Sooner, rather than later.

Making political movements, business deals and sports scores feel faint before one day, let alone 1000 years, passed.

Time for the storyline to continue, people and organisations to thank.

A life stopped but its influence lives.

The second crop waiting to be harvested…

Once Upon a Time in a Warehouse…

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Ever watched a fire scatter homeless people?

Are there days of the week that homeless people make more money telling their stories and asking people to help them out?

What about the 24-hour period that some call Sunday?

The dilemma of managing a storyline 1000 years into your future is remembering the ambiance, the daily tricks of the trade, the parts of your society not bothered with car bombs, assassinations, sky drone monitoring or global warming.

Your planet seems so small in retrospect.

However, telling you about interplanetary transportation issues or galactic survey crews is like telling the founders of Angkor Wat about the printing press or steam-powered locomotives — you’d understand the concept of progress but not necessarily the technological details.

So it is with a random warehouse fire like this:

Typically, you’d get reports that galactic travel machines were burned to hide the evidence of a time twist, or that mobsters were settling a old score.

No doubt, you’ll hear that homeless military veterans were lighting up a big handrolled tobacco cigar and set trash on fire by accident.

Eyewitness reports will appear that show homeless people WERE in larger numbers in the Tri-Cities on the day of the fire.

However, there’s more to the story than meets the eye.

Look carefully:

Can you tell the difference between that photo and the following two:

No?

Let’s try it again.  Look at this photo and see if you can solve the mystery:

You may have to perform an analysis of the chlorophyll concentration, as well as figure out why a mother would pull her two small children out of a safe vehicle to walk toward a raging fire.

Getting warmer?

I thought so.  In 1000 years, we’ll use the space where the warehouse burned for a massive experiment of species overpopulation in absence of balancing predators.

We’ll demonstrate that the excess capacity of enclosed environments — office space, hotel rooms, concert halls, church school rooms, restaurants and public/private classrooms — was put to use toward housing the homeless and turning them into productive members of the Earth-based space travel preparation programs.

I need all seven billion of us to accomplish upcoming goals.

Every milestone is critical and even the tiniest talent, from designing hospital gowns for the prevention of the spread of Klebsiella pneumoniae, to losing $2 Billion, to begging for money on the street, is important.

We’ll keep you posted.

Thanks to Doug/Deanna at Walmart; Donna, Martha, Ronnie, Debbie and more at MHVAMC; Cootie Brown’s; Oh Henry’s; Pal’s; Col. Hts. Pres. Ch. participants; Valero; Mapco; Demetrice at Cupboard BP; Pete at the Chophouse; Home Depot; Rogersville Produce Market; to be continued…