If Dexter’s Parents had not divorced and he had not moved away with his mother,

Who was beautiful as I recall, today would have played out or worked out or turned out

Differently. Very differently, considering that little twist in my six-degrees of separation base pattern

Hapt seventy-years ago, or so,

Watch starlings, if you have starlings, or watch congregations of kippers on Netflix.

Their steering is on auto. Do you agree? Then we are in

Agreement, which is an odd place to find one’s self in the midst of so great a cloud of witnesses.

‘e goes a g’in a ginnin’ grinnin’ all the while

Aye, and radioman turned on just

Now listen this bit here is part of something bigger ignore it for now or if you are a              radioman afix an auto here right now and carry on

I meant, you and I agree schools of sardines and flocks of gulls are all on auto-pilot-propulsion-maintenance programs,

Right?

I thought so. The code in a gnat must be so much more elegant than the vast terabytes of programming in the GPS constrained self-drivers evolving on earth. Gnats never collide and are nearly impossible to hit, unless you have bat tools, which you don’t. Nobody wrote that gnat code, right?

Of course not, evidence of programming only appears to be programming, evidence of design only looks like design it’s not design. Right? So says Carl Sagan, Richard Dawkins, and all the people so called to win the battle for the minds of adamkind, lest, as the confusion of Babel subsides, those minds should begin to reason together more clearly in light left after the lies standing on men’s minds are revealed inferior to what our senses sensationally acknowledge. Whew. Long thought.

I meander, but you do as well. That is how things flow.

Not over immovable objections, around.

One life that was connected to mine in boyhood friendship was severed about half-way through my sixteenth year.

He died. I don’t remember how. Alcohol-related, I can imagine. I did not attend the funeral, though some acquaintances did; one of whom was later my lover. She is dead now as well, too late to tell me anything. She had a baby less than a year after I returned from Vietnam, more than nine months later. That is a heavy thought, but not one I think does much good now.

So little of history is noted. So few lives function to trigger generational unctions that devolve into wars against imbalance, iniquity, slavery and death.

Fraternity, Egality, bull shit git the mob all riled-up, burn , baby, burn.

Whole people die in histories whims,

If whims they were.

Watch the starlings steer through 4-d patterns eternally random,

fueled by bugs they convert to food for the soil itself.

Their life is their work and they do it beautifully. As one.

Can Boeing-Raytheon-L3 et al build a self-propelled, self-refueling drone that can fly at top-speed, maneuvering millimeters in each direction from other self-propelled, self-refueling drones while dropping their payloads without a single friendly-fire crash, ever? Starlings don’t poop on each other.

If war-profiteers could build such things, would you watch such things perform and wonder at the minds that built them or deny such minds played any role from concept to creation and deployment of such an expensive fertilizer distribution system that fertilizes wild weeds as well as gentled weeds? Which would you say: “Wow, how did those get made?” or “Wow, look what billions of years and energy alone can do against absolutely insurmountable odds and impossible physics?”

Are ye not more precious than starlings, or sardines, or gnats. Would a sense pertaining to immediate locational proximity, evident in birds and fish and bugs, not be apparent in adamkind, at least as a metaphor regarding benefits gained in knowing where you are relative to your own environment, regardless of any sense of personal purpose?

I can see it in the fact that we can agree, for good or ill.

As generations mature and regenerate,

might there be patterns in the tumbling of the powerful

and the powerless populations.

Patterns depicting group or herd preservation

by fully mentally equipped populations of mature and maturing adamkind.

Name dropping, rather than restating, Hannah Arendt, “The Origins of Totalitarianism”(1966), Bertrand Russell, “The Problems with Philosophy”(1912), Pankaj Mishra, “The Age of Anger”(2017).

These three books and some browsing of names and titles the authors drop, have spurred me over the top of a rise I had not seen coming. My path had become gradually uphill without my noticing. I was interested in other things and ignoring notices from my body that oxygen stores were being depleted more rapidly than current inventory of red blood cells and nurse lymphocyte-bots can recycle the quadra-monthly disassembly turnover, H2O stores for sweat heat-dispersal systems and plasma regeneration and digestion of what little remains to be digested are now at “caution, think about stopping” levels. But I saw that from the top I might see to the top of the next rise before I chose the downhill part of my path. The down hill path determines the uphill path. In the desert, you can see trails marked in many ways, mosses grow in least-heat zones created by angular location relationships with the sun. Breezes whisper into shade puddles by ever slow slight temperature inequilibria shifting some heat to the triggering of my sweat system.

If you were compelled to reason about every step you take in life as if it were your responsibility to regulate and control every function of your flesh vehicle in which you abide in relationship to all around you that you could harm or that could harm you, you would be mad.

Crazy mad, but angry auch. That would be unfair, because you don’t know how to do what you are being compelled to do. Reports of persons who can control bodily functions not commonly consciously controlled are easily found. Such persons spend their time so countering the rolling rhythms beat by heart doors slamming shut and swooshing open in response to electricity we, adamkind, have yet to truly understand.

If my use of adamkind offends you, the reality of my benefits wrought from my comprehension of my relation to Adam will likely make me your enemy, in your own mind, not mine. Believe a single occurrence, one chance in practically infinity, assume current evolutionary-nontheistic thought being the way things must be, bet some thing or thought you value, then multiply the number of times you make that bet by the number of insects on earth or even by the number of mitochondria in your kidneys. Ignor/*ing life’s delicate imbalances in light of what can be known today, breaks our minds’s ability to agree perfectly. The social dichotomy that seems to arrange adamkind’s affairs over eons and eras: rich and poor, have and have not, mean and meek, is ego-driven, self-benefit seeking and not part of the original program.

Contemplate the sweet influences of Pleiades, silently questing the truth of hope and matter. There is more power in this stream.

Chapter end.