now hear this
Yesterday on the drive home I heard a beautiful piece of commentary on NPR by Andrei Codrescu, NPR's "poet in residence." I've praised his comments and what little of his poetry I've found before. He continues to amaze.
Anyway, I recommend listening to it. Eventhough I transcribed it below, a huge part of the impact is listening to his Romanian enunciation. Just trust me on that.
At some point there are so many messes you need other grown-ups - more competent ones - to clean up them up. "Competent grown-ups" are a myth. But even assuming for a moment that they exist, their solutions to your messes is to make everything incomprehensible so you'll feel truly helpless. When everyone feels helpless these non-existent, competent grown-ups, who may or may not be parental, proceed to do two things: Take away all your initiative and lock you up inside a paradox so complex you'll never get out.
Feeling helpless and trapped may be the normal state of your average adult in the custody of other adults, but it's no fun because it lacks innocence; which is why I say, like Jesus, bring on the children. Their messes are understandable: peanut butter and snot, ketchup and blood, playing dangerously close to traffic, making physical contact with your pals until the world spins, taking the ball seriously enough to cry. Unfortunately, when adults call on children to fix their messes the children have to grow up fast and become nasty little adults before they even have a chance at childhood.
Now let's look at the problem of adulthood globally. Adults have messed up the planet with carbon emissions that are making the earth too hot. Adults take their occasional moments of euphoria to war and kill until they're exhausted. Wars are never started by sick and tired people. They are the work of the excessively healthy, the super optimistic, the pheromone flushed wellbeing addicts. Pheromones allow for glimpses of utopia and testosterone promises you'll get there. But something happens in war and on the aggressive road to wealth: messes.
There are wounds, puddles of blood, annoying, grieving women and maimed children. And the earth so hot, you have to hop on one foot to keep from being burned. You're an adult, dammit, do something about it.
Bring on the Children. Extort their incense, inventiveness, natural compassion. How do they come by that? And let them do their healing work on adult senses. Let them cover you in snot and ketchup and play ball with your head until you see stars. If it gets a little Lord of the Flies-ish, you can always shake them off, grow up to full adult height and proclaim the power of your adulthood. They'll look up with sad, suddenly adult faces and your misery will be mirrored in miniature.
You used to blame all messes on God. But it's not so easy anymore now, when even the staunchest believers want to become children again. You can become a staunch believer, but the mess will stay the same. You may feel like a child but God doesn't feel like playing "adult" anymore. Global warming has affected God. He feels sleepy, lacks ambition, and would like a more adult God to fix the mess. That would be you, now. Wouldn't it?
--Andrei Codrescu
Anyway, I recommend listening to it. Eventhough I transcribed it below, a huge part of the impact is listening to his Romanian enunciation. Just trust me on that.
At some point there are so many messes you need other grown-ups - more competent ones - to clean up them up. "Competent grown-ups" are a myth. But even assuming for a moment that they exist, their solutions to your messes is to make everything incomprehensible so you'll feel truly helpless. When everyone feels helpless these non-existent, competent grown-ups, who may or may not be parental, proceed to do two things: Take away all your initiative and lock you up inside a paradox so complex you'll never get out.
Feeling helpless and trapped may be the normal state of your average adult in the custody of other adults, but it's no fun because it lacks innocence; which is why I say, like Jesus, bring on the children. Their messes are understandable: peanut butter and snot, ketchup and blood, playing dangerously close to traffic, making physical contact with your pals until the world spins, taking the ball seriously enough to cry. Unfortunately, when adults call on children to fix their messes the children have to grow up fast and become nasty little adults before they even have a chance at childhood.
Now let's look at the problem of adulthood globally. Adults have messed up the planet with carbon emissions that are making the earth too hot. Adults take their occasional moments of euphoria to war and kill until they're exhausted. Wars are never started by sick and tired people. They are the work of the excessively healthy, the super optimistic, the pheromone flushed wellbeing addicts. Pheromones allow for glimpses of utopia and testosterone promises you'll get there. But something happens in war and on the aggressive road to wealth: messes.
There are wounds, puddles of blood, annoying, grieving women and maimed children. And the earth so hot, you have to hop on one foot to keep from being burned. You're an adult, dammit, do something about it.
Bring on the Children. Extort their incense, inventiveness, natural compassion. How do they come by that? And let them do their healing work on adult senses. Let them cover you in snot and ketchup and play ball with your head until you see stars. If it gets a little Lord of the Flies-ish, you can always shake them off, grow up to full adult height and proclaim the power of your adulthood. They'll look up with sad, suddenly adult faces and your misery will be mirrored in miniature.
You used to blame all messes on God. But it's not so easy anymore now, when even the staunchest believers want to become children again. You can become a staunch believer, but the mess will stay the same. You may feel like a child but God doesn't feel like playing "adult" anymore. Global warming has affected God. He feels sleepy, lacks ambition, and would like a more adult God to fix the mess. That would be you, now. Wouldn't it?
--Andrei Codrescu