"...We don't do this till the fat lady sings..." he told Jeff Goldblum
this prose jaunt is part of a longer ramble. it came out of a rant about industrialism/consumerism/corporate America, and then became an excuse for me to mention smoking blunts with Will Smith but not getting jiggy with it.
~~
"The world post September 11th,2001…masked cadaver cities…Smoking blunts in space with Will Smith"
A cadre of teeth marked the anniversary of the prank Fate played on History. When man plans, God laughs…
In the cities hangs the atmosphere of garbage tainted by champagne and blood soaked caviar, shrouded in smog. The cadavers march wearing life-like masks. The working class is crowded, confused and jaded. The unemployed lounge on the porches of condemned houses. Those who have jobs hate them. Skyscrapers blast out the pores of our planet, outlined in neon, the sun reflecting off of mirror windows. Nosebleeds occur at the mere sight of them. The buildings contain with unhappy robots who watch commercials. Auto-programmed to do what their told, maintaining fervent lip-service to what they perceive as freedom. The American Way.
Two men in their mid-twenties stand in the shadow of one such building and smoke cigarettes under an umbrella. It is not raining. The young men are wearing white dress-shirts and identical black ties, black slacks, and black leather shoes. The underside of the umbrella is plastered with aluminum foil.
"We are selling out our home, poor earth. Ungrateful misguided inhabitants have gotten the wrong idea. " the first man said to the second, pausing only to draw from his cigarette.
"Some time in the near future, the worms will have picked the apple clean. Nothing lasts forever. We could complain and recycle plant trees and tighten regulations. We could install wisdom, patience, and mercy in the hearts of all mankind, thusly creating world peace and the abolishment of governments and wars and religion. We could all do our personal best to make the world a better place.
The truth is, none of that would matter." Another drag.
"This all happens over and over, all of this, I mean, you know…it all cycles through." the second young man interjects as he grinds his cigarette butt under the sole of his dress-shoe. "Man is no match for his own inventions, conventions and bureaucracy. We have been lost in a swamp of modern stipulations…societal attempts to program us, to condition the human mind to a state of utter surrender; willing obedience. All of us swept up, stampeding along with the rest of the herd, moving towards the top of that final tall cliff which would mean dinner for the natives."
"I prefer not to stampede. I am in no hurry." the first young man professed, "We all get caught up, either going with the grain or against it. Too many folks never realize that we are all going to the same place, some just take a different route. We all move in the same direction. This all cycles over and over."
The second young man woefully shook his head. "So many people forget that everything is an illusion. All I know for sure it that this movie does not end with me saving the earth, smoking blunts in outer space with Will Smith. 'This is our victory dance…we don't do this till the fat lady sings.' "
~~
"The world post September 11th,2001…masked cadaver cities…Smoking blunts in space with Will Smith"
A cadre of teeth marked the anniversary of the prank Fate played on History. When man plans, God laughs…
In the cities hangs the atmosphere of garbage tainted by champagne and blood soaked caviar, shrouded in smog. The cadavers march wearing life-like masks. The working class is crowded, confused and jaded. The unemployed lounge on the porches of condemned houses. Those who have jobs hate them. Skyscrapers blast out the pores of our planet, outlined in neon, the sun reflecting off of mirror windows. Nosebleeds occur at the mere sight of them. The buildings contain with unhappy robots who watch commercials. Auto-programmed to do what their told, maintaining fervent lip-service to what they perceive as freedom. The American Way.
Two men in their mid-twenties stand in the shadow of one such building and smoke cigarettes under an umbrella. It is not raining. The young men are wearing white dress-shirts and identical black ties, black slacks, and black leather shoes. The underside of the umbrella is plastered with aluminum foil.
"We are selling out our home, poor earth. Ungrateful misguided inhabitants have gotten the wrong idea. " the first man said to the second, pausing only to draw from his cigarette.
"Some time in the near future, the worms will have picked the apple clean. Nothing lasts forever. We could complain and recycle plant trees and tighten regulations. We could install wisdom, patience, and mercy in the hearts of all mankind, thusly creating world peace and the abolishment of governments and wars and religion. We could all do our personal best to make the world a better place.
The truth is, none of that would matter." Another drag.
"This all happens over and over, all of this, I mean, you know…it all cycles through." the second young man interjects as he grinds his cigarette butt under the sole of his dress-shoe. "Man is no match for his own inventions, conventions and bureaucracy. We have been lost in a swamp of modern stipulations…societal attempts to program us, to condition the human mind to a state of utter surrender; willing obedience. All of us swept up, stampeding along with the rest of the herd, moving towards the top of that final tall cliff which would mean dinner for the natives."
"I prefer not to stampede. I am in no hurry." the first young man professed, "We all get caught up, either going with the grain or against it. Too many folks never realize that we are all going to the same place, some just take a different route. We all move in the same direction. This all cycles over and over."
The second young man woefully shook his head. "So many people forget that everything is an illusion. All I know for sure it that this movie does not end with me saving the earth, smoking blunts in outer space with Will Smith. 'This is our victory dance…we don't do this till the fat lady sings.' "