after all you are only human

In case you didn't know, I happen to think best when in the rain. Plenty of times erosion has got the better half of me.

As I’m really glad to see you’re sharing your intuitive sense. You and I both realize, everything is not the same as on the big screen. So remember that.

As you may know, there is a war going on and I’m not talking about the war on Iraq, I’m talking about a war that is being fought amongst men and women about something that no one can rightly recall. Like these people you sometimes happen to share the convenience of your time, they’re prone to squabbling, it doesn’t come as that big of a surprise. Doesn’t it?

The way I tell it, it’s as if humans have been looking to do away with themselves for a long time because to be quite frank… we’re tired… of everything… if not mostly (pardon my French) the bullshit.

We’re too disenfranchised with ourselves to do away with anything but. So we blow ourselves and each other up. Sometimes literally. We set upon the world, year after year, a terrible shaking. A shaking of the land and the trees and the oceans. And, after years of drawing lines and daring ourselves and each other to cross them, we finally set about doing something…

…inventing clouds that could choke the air out of our lungs.

One day there will be a choking so great that none of us, not one, will survive. In the future, the mole people, them or the bug men will tell it best being that we humans were, at one point, the best of friends. How the clouds did not kill them would be anyone’s guess.

As for me, I understand where you’re coming from. Pardon my mentioning, I was born in the year of the rat, but it comes as no coincidence that I figure I am in fact much like a rat itself. Reviled as little more than a bottom-dwelling disease carrier to the most ignorant of creatures. I remember running away from them to my place of abode beneath the shade of a tree. ‘When pigs grow wings’, I said to myself. I the rat will one day spin a cocoon like the butterflies, I imagined. That I will sleep in it and emerge transformed.

In my far younger days, I would watch the caterpillars climb high atop the trees into their very own cocoon in the spring and then wait until they came back with better names. I would marvel at the perfection of their lives, being that they were all given second chances. That they were born again with wings enough to carry them far off into the possibilities of a greater world. But I’m only a rat. A rat that lived with a great many other rats. ‘When pigs grow wings I will fly away’, I told myself. Because if pigs could fly then surely they'd allow I, the rat.

To think up something to say today I’m surprised enough to say as it were in the very least. I’m glad you find this even something worth your time if you have happened to have read up until here. There’s a lot of fodder in the world. It rarely comes up with anything beyond grunts of yes and no and excitability. But once in a while one might think up something to say.

As demonstrated by many, a hive mind within itself. The world is drowning in courageous inner monologues of those that march to their own drummers and all that. But generally things in this world are quiet. Mistakes are made all round, leaving the majority of us bitter and unsafe except within the bosoms of our own discontent. For a rat such as myself, I sometimes figure it’s best and most adhering to see the world as the mistake of those who took a good idea and made it bad. The fact that it’s hard to realize that the idea itself was bad to begin with isn’t my fault. It’s nobody’s fault when it comes right down to it. It’s just one of those things that you find yourself unable to remember with any clarity. The end of the world? It just happens.