Try as hard as humanly possible, the chaos of the universe breaks through at every juncture. Go to Mars and Terra-form the crap out of it into a poor version of earth and find weeds soon poking through the asphalt. This collective anomaly called mankind has no chance at Godhood. That comes from the spirit, such as it is, from within. Trouble is that the most devious and deceitful ideas imaginable have replaced tens of thousands of years of collective wisdom with man-made chaotic crackpot notions that while they may temporarily lead to a synchronized superficially functional ant kingdom one day after the Bolshevik model of radical social cleansing is complete. But it will never be viable to last over the eons. There are enough six-legged ant colonies in existence. What is the imperative behind creating an even more self-destructive two legged one. The element of reliably formed artful chaos from one pillar to the next will not ensure the proper kind of Phoenix rising from its ashes. Owls may not have much more to say in this world than, “Who?“. The so-called ritual of intellectually tempered discussion has been long dissolved by modern artifice and the ever-present threat of force. The perfect Totalitarian model. This current extended version of Sodom and Gomorrah no longer has the luxury of detailing a few angels to help sort things out before the nukes are launched. Those ‘right’ people that believe that they will be comfortably sheltered in the caverns below until all the remnants of the now less than useful ‘useless eaters’ antiseptically have rotted away on the surface into bleached bones are kidding themselves. They don’t seem smart enough to see that they will forever bring their demons with them where ever they set again foot. You don’t have to be a religious zealot or unconditionally dogmatic believer to see from such material that the fragments of stories such as they are have some past information of value to tell. Especially when the current scenarios seem to have become a bad sequel of the same! One can hesitantly turn around and longingly face back on what was and surrender to turning into a well-singed pillar of salty steam. Or you can move off to create the best possible version of something else. Something that does not require brass horns and infomercials to sell it. Either way, the tennis court myths that were once were glorified have long evaporated from the initial blinding flash of sub atomic particle collapse into empty meaningless words. Time to try to come up with some real viable content in line with the flow of a larger universe rather than prop up the remaining cinders of a tiny inbred old ones.