Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Artificial Daylight

I hate planning. Yes I know, more complaining and whining – but I like to think that it’s more scepticism taking control of my fears. I’m sceptical that at some point in time in the near future, I won’t be feeling the same urge to play the fiddler’s tune – fortune-telling is a witchcraft I don’t quite abide to well. For instance, I’ve made plans to meet with some friends over the next week, but I don’t know if that day will be one of those on-the-couch-exhausted from running the hamster wheel all day days…

My hatred of planning extends to other realms of the outside world too… for if a wonderful Saturday is planned, jotting off to the mountain tops, whistling in the woods, hearing if a tree truly makes any noise in the great outdoors – a rain may come and spit upon the day from the skies by mother nature… then I don’t have a choice, I’m disappointed in the rubble of the plans. Today was the day of my Spring Cleaning - the task to rid my rooms of ruin, rubble and ravageness, but instead, Spring was delayed when the groundhog bit his shadow and nature blanketed the ground with white droplets of water to send the boroughs to sleep.

Circuit Breaker

When some plans don’t work out, the rubble of the ruins needs rebuilding, needs restructuring to repair the impairs of the devastation. The great coliseums weren’t even immune to the great collapse of a plan in ruins. Much planning always needs restructure. The only way to restructure is with some fundamental mechanical and civil engineering principles – throw everything at it and the kitchen sink, and see what works and what doesn’t. Always reminds me of the youth and their silly pranks suspending a Volkswagen Beetle from rafters and ceilings.

At the onset of the rubbled mess, we can begin to strategize a path to repair the impair. As mentioned, finding a curtain to pull over the stars and call a home to rest weary eyes in peace is the first priority – but structure and repair also need infrastructure. The things that tie us together – the gravity in perpetual motion design – the magnets that propel us to the stars… infrastructure.


Call them underground tunnels, call them strings across the sky, the pipes and channels and transmissions that pull us tight and ring our phones is infrastructure. Over the past century our infrastructure development has paved the way to our two great Oceans. From sea to shining sea, the prospects of seeing a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel is only a short distance away. A gentleman once told me he saw a train at the end of that tunnel – I scoffed and wrote his buffoonery off to the light-hearted conversation of pumps and pulleys. Infrastructure can never lead us down a railroad track – well, I suppose it could…

Electrically Driven

To tie our things together, we first need a gift – something that would be cherished for a life time. Freedom was the first gift – and we built our highways to feed our tunnels with the wildest dreams of the oceans. Our freedoms from sea to sea. Our next gift, wrapped tightly in a knot, was our comfort, or our energy supply – gas and juice. 5 amperes, 120 volts and you’ve got yourself one helluva light bulb there James Watt! To feed our thirst for gas and juice, we set up networks of tightly bound energy streams, all pumped and drilled and connected to our little dots in the distance – we are our own tiny little lights at the end of a long tunnel. And we drink the gas and juice. We revel in it’s moisture-rific succulence and we crave to have more, like the nicotine addict to the patch.

Fire Class C Extinguisher

The thirst for moisture and water to prevent our dehydration is innate – we must have these comforts in order to survive. The infrastructure for water supply is solid, not quite for the whole of the worlds, but if we can fix ourselves, we can help to fix others. The thirst however, is never satisfied in the world of entropic energy. The petroleums that drive our worlds. The next gift to tie our things together, is to open up a present and to find a nice warm hand-sewn blanket – a comfort. An infrastructure system dedicated to tying in our solar panels, our geothermal wells, and our wind farms. These remote locations of the world can now be our sparks of safety flares in the distance. If we build this gift to ourselves, we’ll be unwrapping more presents by the next celebration of Christ – we’ll have jobs to support this development – rigs, platforms, kaleidascopes, mirrors, squirt guns and bulled horns – we need this to be the next great pioneering campaign. I could never imagine a pioneer without an altruistic sense of purpose – a pioneer dreaming of freely blowing winds, soft billowing clouds of steam beneath us, or eternal sunshine glowing brightly into the phosphorescence of our souls.

We can build this – we just need to first think about what we can build with our heaps of junk in our garbage cans. By the time the garbage stinks enough, the methane gases will rise and spark with light bulbs going off above our heads. We just need to think about these things that tie knots.

Real courage is risking something that you have to keep on living with, real courage is risking something that might force you to rethink your thoughts and suffer change and stretch consciousness. Real courage is risking one's cliches."

Tom Robbins - Another Roadside Attraction

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