The Price of Progress…

The future is unwritten:

But I’d wager the following scenario is prime candidate to be a waypoint in our destiny. I’ll stick my finger in the air and pluck out a time….let’s say 12000 years from now. Despite all human trials; the conflicts, the disasters and disease we’ve managed to swell our population exponentially. Another finger in the air and another pluck and I arrive at a trillion inhabitants. All very very different in appearance to us relics of today. Those lucky to have their consciousness selected become man/machine hybrids for a rationed time. They colonise the solar system and many manufactured planets beyond. Within each being, only a few threads of humanity remain; every creation physically and mentally superior to anyone alive now. The random drift of evolution has been captured and reined for our… own self-preservation and world conservation. At least that’s how it’s portrayed to the populace. The truth is; it’s the execution of curious whims, meddling for meddling’s sake by men of weird science. Labelling themselves as Intelligent designers from our time they engender a progeny that’s a caricature of themselves…who in turn deliver their own new breed into a further future.

Many times over this repeats until we reach the aforesaid waypoint. That generation sit there.. and gaze upon US for their education, for their history, for their entertainment. Several ultra-historians I’d posit for every man, woman and child alive today and a myriad more curious enquirers. Because of the traces we’re leaving in our everyday lives, we’re easy fodder. Our physical movements, business, social, intimate and financial interactions; they’re all recorded and saved in data warehouses and archived unchanged for history henceforth…ready for recall at the flick of an impulse from a far removed descendant.

The upshot – we WILL be judged. We’ll all have our Judgement Day. Not by a mystical God of our imagination’s making. But by godlike beings of the cheap and plentiful kind–of our own engineering.

The future is written.

Would you Moonwalk for a Mate?

The funniest animal…

It has to be the ‘Red-Capped Manakin’. This little bird dwells in the tropics and has evolved over time to master the moonwalk as its mating signature. The male is jet-black in body, crimson crowned and no longer than an index finger. To see it perched atop a branch dancing its little twiglets off is a hilarious yet beguiling sight. No wonder the females swoon and fall into their seducer’s open wings afterwards. I’m the same sex and of a different species – all the same I was charmed enough to mate with it. I jest (the size issue would soon break the relationship).

Word has it that many moons..let me be more precise 684 moons ago at time of press (give or take a moon) a guy called Bill Bailey (an African-American tap dancer (not the British Comedian who is coincidentally almost as funny as the bird I speak of)) was the originator of the moonwalk, well I figure he’d made a trip out into the wilds of wherever, caught sight of this feathered enigma and mocked the bird when he returned. He’s known to be the first ever ‘moonwalker’ and rumoured to have inspired Michael Jackson no less.

A video can be found on youtube – go on, cheer yourself up.

Billie Jean


Picking Cherries from a Thorn Bush…

I had a small epiphany last night – a song came on the radio that ordinarily wouldn’t get my attention; I admit my hand quivered over the off knob. Yet I recoiled… there was a lyric in said song I found interesting nay almost profound. I lay awake later that night compiling a list born of my insomnia of good things born of a bad source:

A ray of light that bursts through the clouds on a dull day, the cream on a Bird’s Trifle (there as your reward for enduring the sponge and jelly), freewheeling down a hill after a punishing ascent, Natasha Kaplinksy’s flawless face in the trash that was Channel 5 news (feel free to disagree). Then there’s John Sergeant – it’s hard to look at him and not feel bilious – yet he’s so articulate and endearing I’d rather go the pub with him and be regaled over a guinness than have the company of a taut bodied, brainless bimbette who requires everything explained to her at every turn (at least I think I’d rather).

For what it’s worth – the song that gave me my ‘mini moment’ was ‘Womanizer’ by Britney… and the lyric ‘the swagger of a superstar’.



addendum: Britney didn’t write the song – Nikesha Briscoe, Rafael Akinyemi did so. That figures.

Hellboy 2 Golden Army

My observations are sometimes punched into me –  not physically, but fed serially by a fist that sits on a jackhammer… oft six, seven or eight syllables drum themselves prosodically into my mind’s memory silos…. take 2012 for example…

The Royal Courts of the mogul emperors.

Gibb in a coma with pneumonia.

Grotesque scenes in a place of worship.

Rafeal defended it well.

London Council social cleansing.

No Claims Discount Validation.

Rare earth magnets in orthodontics.

The pain and bulk of a whalebone corset.

Soon it’s the Queen’s diamond Jubilee.

Barton rants at Alan shearer.

Snorkel parka music practice room.

Mother killed in pushchair accident.

How long does a macbook battery last?

Alan Hansen’s forehead injury.

What a strike from Theo Walcott.

Don’t give yourself a Hitler parting.

Porcupine creek in Southeast Alaska.

Trapped in public storage facility.

Almighty change that’s fast approaching.

Sour cream chives and a slice of cucumber.

Di Matteo axe reaction.

Shocking scenes of storm hit Britain.

A mélange, a mish mash of all sorts at/on first glimpse/glance; a chronological list, evident maybe to the keener eyed, but there’s a rhythm too in there to be picked out whose beats repeat and compound themselves. Not to mention the psyche of its author. Another diffidently raised hand.

How green are you?

Do Kermit and The Hulk look pale in your emerald shadow? Is the Green-eyed Monster envious of your carbon footprint? All my answers to that are now YES. Constant nagging from the media and green planatics has had me adapt my life somewhat to harmonise me with their eco wishes and appease their sensibilities. For them (and a greater being too); a list of my good deeds that’ll hopefully have me looked favourably upon:

1. I’ve ripped out my lungs to cut my carbon emissions and now source my energy from my genetically modified photosynthetic skin; side-effect is I’m more jaded now than jaundiced; It’s not easy being green, but hey, it’s for the greater good.

2. I now recycle all my waste by eating it (recurrently). A perpetual ‘motion’ machine if you like; any spare energy is fed back into the grid.

3. I ride to work (on an old christmas tree (technology courtesy of a witch I know) in the wake and on the vapour trails of airliners. My dalliance with these beasts of the sky has me scooping up their exhaust gasses as I surf the turbulence and hurtling all that’s harmful in them into space.

Incidentally – after touching down at my office…

4. I settle into my work as a wind turbine cranker; heavy going, then again, I was never told it’d be a breeze. But lunchtimes are my own, it is then I flip the lid of my geothermal laptop and log into my account as an agent for an extremist splinter cell – an offshoot (very green one) of Greenpeace to dot the i’s and cross the t’s on the plot of the carbon economy’s downfall. But shhh Mum’s the word.

The Green Goddess come the Rapture and the Ozone Hole Apocalypse will hopefully now spare me.

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