It would be intelligent to warp that effort before the monster proceeds too far, that underground seething lava attempting to decimate earth with its next eruption.
Had enough metaphors? I’m gagging on them.
There are so many ways to attempt to record this hideous present for posterity, so many ways to describe it so that, as our offspring spin in our whirlpool, our analyses may provide insight. Here’s what was wrong, anyway.
Advances in technology, science, culture, and consciousness may equip the future to get around our gruesome legacy, like Superman flying up into that maelstrom and hauling it off as it threatens Metropolis. Remember that episode?
We know that education is part of that superhuman strength needed. As in the schools spreading around Pakistan (see my review of Three Cups of Tea below) that focus on the latest hope of that part of the world, handing over the power to women, freeing up that staunched volcano, a brilliant move that the newly elected administration here has not emulated.
There are so many men in the new administration, white men in suits with experience. Obama is the zippadeedoodah, his appointees the same old soil recycled.
Something old, something new to face head on the wave poised over us. Obama’s calm cool, his worldwide popularity, the hope that rises above and from the hyper- analysis—nothing’s perfect; we need the known more than the unknown, our boat stuck in now frozen whirlpools, bladed wave frozen above us.
We’ve just about sunk to the political pit even as the economy, tanking, is expected to recover next spring. As oil prices rise.
As, miraculously, as it always happens, new crises rise as others fade. What demons await us in the spring?
What hope? What spring?
Had enough metaphors? I’m gagging on them.
There are so many ways to attempt to record this hideous present for posterity, so many ways to describe it so that, as our offspring spin in our whirlpool, our analyses may provide insight. Here’s what was wrong, anyway.
Advances in technology, science, culture, and consciousness may equip the future to get around our gruesome legacy, like Superman flying up into that maelstrom and hauling it off as it threatens Metropolis. Remember that episode?
There are so many men in the new administration, white men in suits with experience. Obama is the zippadeedoodah, his appointees the same old soil recycled.
Something old, something new to face head on the wave poised over us. Obama’s calm cool, his worldwide popularity, the hope that rises above and from the hyper- analysis—nothing’s perfect; we need the known more than the unknown, our boat stuck in now frozen whirlpools, bladed wave frozen above us.
We’ve just about sunk to the political pit even as the economy, tanking, is expected to recover next spring. As oil prices rise.
As, miraculously, as it always happens, new crises rise as others fade. What demons await us in the spring?
What hope? What spring?
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