Archive for July, 2013

Key Holder

there can be only one

Human populations have many similarities to other social groups on this planet.

In times of stress the ant queen sends out a chemical message and a handful of ants become scouts. The scouts stop being hunter/gatherers and go out on a solitary mission to find The Next Place. If they find a new nest site, they scurry back to the hive and pick up another ant and carry it to the new place. The new guy checks it out and then the two scurry back and the hive moves.

Being a Scout is a dangerous job and the mortality rate is high.

Slime mold, a loose colony of sister cells not unlike ants, does something similar. In times of starvation, as they eat the last bit of food in their environment, the cells grab a few lucky sister cells, force them into a fruiting body and send them out as spores. An Escape Pod, if you will. The few survive, while the many perish, but the colony is rebuilt.

The human hive mind creates similar individuals. Is it pheromones or stress or the tacit agreement of seven billion unconscious minds that create the scouts, or the forerunners, or the escape pod? Who knows. Science has not caught up with the nature of our hive mind (mostly because it is not PC to acknowledge the fact that our minds access a pool of primal knowledge to which we all contribute … it makes owning an idea problematic.)

The human scouts are the great thinkers. The inventors and the writers and the scientists who imagine The Next Place and then build it. These are the true “one-percent” who make the difference between prosperous growth or the decline back into chaos.

Then there is the One. A singularity among humans. That one person who — in the time of dire need, as the systems of men fall into ruin and extinction comes knocking on the door like Death carrying a scythe and cloaked in darkness– is forced by the Hive to the pinnacle of a mountain made of the bodies of the dead, who must stand above all the rest, open themselves to the infinite dimensions of space/time, and point the way.

Follow me if you want to live, the One says. The mortality rate in the Chosen One field is near to 100%. Nobody ever retires from the position.

Thus the Myth of the Chosen One was born.

It has been told in every culture since the dawn of time. Expect the Chosen One, the prophets say. He will save you. But it is not a promise or a prophesy. It is the tick tock clock of your own genetic matrix, the hard wired code in your DNA that listens to the mad whispers coming out of the Hive Mind and at the right moment, moves to make sure a viable number of the species survives long enough to seed somewhere else.  When everything turns to shit, we will create a Chosen One.

Oh, do not misunderstand. There is a Chosen One born in every generation but, like the scouts who cannot find a viable Next Place, we ignore them until they are needed. Then, all the One has to do is exist, be, shine, sing, proclaim its existence for all to see and the human hive, in its need, will follow.

How does that work, the creation of a Chosen One? Perhaps it is like Lexx, the great semi-sentient insect ship, a weapon of infinite destruction, who, one day, in need of a pilot, gave her Key to the next person who crossed her portal, thus granting Stanley Tweedle all the power anyone could ever hope for. Was it his fault that he did not want the Key nor have any desire for the power bequeathed him? All he wanted was an ordinary life, something the Hive Mind would never give him.

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At times it seems that innocence exist solely for the purpose of rooting out the lesser beings among us.

Sometimes, through accident or misadventure, harm comes to those things who hold nothing but the Oneness of the Universe in their hearts.  Be it animal, insect, or child, these are the beings devoid of the veils that men normally acquire to obfuscate their nature.

How evil does one have to be to intentionally cause harm to those who are without blame?

Perhaps the innocents have intentionally put themselves in harms way so that we might root out the darkness hidden behind the faceless masks, like the sacrificial goat, put out to lure in the predators, that they may be eradicated once and for all.

Would you make their sacrifice be for nothing?

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things that never see the light of day

things that never see the light of day

A whistleblower is like that really annoying relative who gets tired of
listening to you whine about how god has cursed you with weak children
because yours seem to be sick ALL THE TIME, so he gets up and kicks a
hole in the wall, letting a thousand roaches spill out onto the floor
then he rips up the carpet to show you all the black mold underneath.

He was annoying before. Now he is an asshole and you are really mad at him because he ruined your house.

And worse still, now you cannot complain about the conditions in which you live, but are forced to either move or do something about the rotten things behind the walls.

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who can thaw a frozen heart?

who can thaw a frozen heart?


If you have ever wondered about the differences between how men love versus how women love, you need go not further than the pop songs on the radio.

Men right love songs. Women write bitter breakup songs.

If you plotted the emotional quotient on a graph, the bell curves would be opposite and mirrored. The only time men and women coincide is in the middle, as the man begins to loose interest and the woman’s heart, under the heat of his passion, begins to thaw and she decides to risk it all.

Do you wonder that our songs are so bitter?

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