If there's one issue that currently defines our identity, it's our treatment of the environment. Our conscience is crippled by it. The guilt touches every one of us, because we've been brought up to hate ourselves for our implicit cooperation. I say to hell with all of that. Whatever is happening may be happening for a reason and it is the height of arrogance to impose an aesthetic (it's little more) on the consciousness of entire generations with all the dogma of an inquisition. It's the lack of ambivalence that offends me.

There is a better way; my father promotes it. There is compromise. The spooky graphs and statistics we summon are not nearly as important as the questions we ask about our purpose; whether we continue to nurse our sense of loss or make something useful out of the experience. I just wish everyone would stop walking around thinking they knew exactly what is right for the world. We will never have that answer.


The Frightened Earth

You are all afraid and guilty,
I can see it in your talking,
endless talking
and alarms in the
night,

as a baby screams because
death is still fresh in its soul.

You are a part of it,
maybe,
smokestacks and dead penguins.
But why feed betrayal to your children,
why this endless lament
when you don’t know,
when no one can ever know
where it ends
or
why?

I say you have invented this evil,
there are no monsters under the bed,
Al Gore is not your messiah,
it is all foolishness,
this terror,
this guilt.

So who are you to scream your
conjecture into the void and
call it law,
to make our spirit cower
and hide its poor head in the
acrid soil?

YOU MADE ME CRY
BECAUSE I THOUGHT I
WAS KILLING MY WORLD
SO FUCK OFF WITH YOUR
PRECIOUS CRUSADE.

No one knows.
No one.


This is the 500th Phobitopia post. 500 is because I wanted you to feel part of what I am, and because that part is the important one.