The Oracle Trilogy Book One Ohm's Node

The Apotheosis of War (completed)

Part 2 

'The past is but a thread in the tapestry of our future'

Chapter 16   @ The Three Fates (in 3 acts)

 *Sui generis*

Up until eleven days ago, Gillian was self-obsessed with her fan base. The one window of the houseboat framed boat town, acres of boats tied to a labyrinth of docks and walkways. There was a wind-up clock and a stacks of books along one wall, on the other a knotty mattress and a two trunks of clothes and the stuff that she found on her walks to the only food store open close enough to walk safely. An industrial fan in front of a threadbare chair with an extra cushion. A miner's cap with a headlight hung from a floor lamp. The bench and weights were pushed up in one end where she had tacked a poster of the human anatomy and hung a floor to wall mirror. She wasn't vain or narcissistically inclined but into a healthy strong body that could disable a strong male who physically assaulted her as they had raped the planet.

The walls and ceiling were covered with mostly pictures of man's descent into hell including Vereshchagin's  Apotheosis of War. Those were the stories that crashed on her like a tsunami of man's dark manifestations. Over the years she had chosen the iconic pictures of man's great fail and created a montage of human dysfunction; the picture of the enormous Deepwater Horizon oil spill, rivers on fire, huge swaths of timber burning, dried cracked farmland, trickles of water coursing once mighty engorged rivers basins, flooding and burning coastal cities, the grand testament of Man shitting the bed all the while trying to act like a saint who brought hope and inspiration to the earthly disenfranchised. Had to stop the insanity. Had to stop.

Dawn always brought the sickness of hopelessness despite a brightening sky of soft and delicate shades of orange, some calling it apocalyptic orange. Anything else meant batten down the hatches. Light wind pushed the whole floating village against moorings, causing a percussive atonal melody of wood and plastic compounds while the wind fluted whispered secrets so profound that some wore ear plugs. Archangel sighed, determined again to begin some new life with a stub of pencil and the back of a flyer for cheap meat.

'Fuck', pushing both off the makeshift desk and grabbing the old Chrome.

'I post because I am constipated and knew if I didn't, I would die a soulless death. The planet is in danger of a catastrophic loss of species including our own. Man isn't moving fast enough despite cascading catastrophic events including viral pandemics while the disconnect between humans and nature becomes complete. Words are words but without being nurtured by mother nature, are meaningless. They said that that sentiment was radical, naive. That anyone could jumble words into a word salad and make a point. Imagine that! And that's another thing!

They forgot that they are all brothers and sisters, cohabiting the same planet, so they kind of became delusional and imagined these invisible borders, beliefs and structures separating them and started destroying each other and the Earth they lived on instead of just living, sharing, creating and evolving together.

I post because the ground has disappeared. No more solid ground to rest your laurels. No more solid ground to believe that what you say or do has any validity, if anyone is listening. We've gone from fetid swamp to a nihilistic code red. Whose lie has more support. Whose lie has the hottest mojo. Whose lie enforces the squishy ideas of the most people. Democracy has been a big lie all along, it goes. The Climate Crisis is a big lie concocted to serve the interests of other liars. It's in an epic transition that naturally occurs. Fuck science. It's used as a weapon to get one group of liars funding for their fake power plays on a game board that's rapidly disintegrating as this horrid tragicomedy plays out. I've always sadly believed that man would come to his senses and silly me.