So why mangoes? you may well ask. This is my dream: a mango tree within reach of my balcony; abundant, sensuous pleasure; sunny, sweet fruit and the flowering of my creative life in profusion. This is a dream of wealth shared, spent lovingly on you. Taste a mango, celebrate a windfall, and feel good. Leave the seed somewhere else to grow, and pass on. We are the agents of seed dispersal. What good is changing the world if you don't enjoy it? And what is enjoyment if it doesn't change the world?
Sunday, April 11, 2010
I've been thinking a lot about the end of the world, and our slow-burning chosen apocali. Would apocalypses make more sense? It's sick that we could even think to pluralize apocalypse, but we are dying by chemicals and radiation and wearing away all the capacity of our own planet to protect us from the sun, from the extremes of nature's capriciousness, and so it is not just one thing but a whole host of endgame players, check and mate, the confluence of our self-will and the world's will, our intent suicidal and the world's, homicidal. In that, I suppose there is only a singular, apocalypse, to describe when it finally becomes too late for any actions to sway the course of fate and annihilation is assured.
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APOCALYPSES!
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