They finally granted us rain
It was now , or never, they said
And drizzled some droplets onto the smog
WE waved up our arms, shouting ‘Justice!
When shall the whole world burn?
_The gods of the Global Warming
Started their march with us in turn
For we are here for them to devour-
Right at the edge of the world…..
&&&& Inspired by the poem below & the inferno bushfires:
https://www.democraticunderground.org/1127134771 -this one’s tragi-comic. Bulls with fried testes……..:-))D
Ladies&gentleman,I can assure you the veracity of these accounts,- as royal We spent the last 5 weeks breathing in oxygen-rare smoke, watching the nature reserve around me filled with haze; seen 3 big, crazed Kangas hop by my window @ full gallop.
I’ve also been keeping a packed suitcase, updated my insurance in case the apartment burns down (it’s in a dreadful position, -surrounded by bushland for miles).i contemplated whether -jumping in the pool- would serve as an emergency action
Tonight FINALLY!Hallelujah! i witnessed some moderate rain& a cool-down
smoke is still thick , however
* It has never in my 2-decade life here, been THIS bad. The worst scenario happened 16 years ago, & that only lasted around 2 weeks as I remember.Smoke was not this suffocating& it was later on in summer,burning down far fewer homes. Those memories of sitting on bags& crates for the doggies’re vivid,-since our suburb was the next one over from evacuated areas. It felt apocalyptic then, but Little did i Know… Tonight I heard someone’s smoke alarm going off (so smoke is now permeating into abodes)
What gives this the _Titanic sinking, but the Musicians still playing_ effect:
is that i’m in midst of selling aforementioned unit.SO i’m conducting these ultra-polite negotiations with a young couple pursuing their Australian dream ëõ
\likely to take them some years of selling their soul to the bank_-to achieve,but neither of us know whether the place’ll still be standing tomorrow
The Gods of the Copybook Headings
|AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.”
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.”
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “If you don’t work you die.”
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!