I hope it comes sooner than 200 years. We have become diseased with meaning and reason, and it cripples us. Dead people in Myanmar. Dead people in China. Dead people in Zimbabwe. Dead people everywhere. What good Science does when the mere basic human needs are failed to be ensured, only the greatest man knows. For the good of the world, western Academics need to turn some public attention toward the eradication of any simple suffering. We have become masters at factionalism, in it we can prosper and appear as masters, but masters do not hide, do they?
I'm not sure where any of that came from, but this poem affected my heart more than I wish to describe. It's one of those days where I cannot justify happiness.
I hope it comes sooner than 200 years. We have become diseased with meaning and reason, and it cripples us. Dead people in Myanmar. Dead people in China. Dead people in Zimbabwe. Dead people everywhere. What good Science does when the mere basic human needs are failed to be ensured, only the greatest man knows. For the good of the world, western Academics need to turn some public attention toward the eradication of any simple suffering. We have become masters at factionalism, in it we can prosper and appear as masters, but masters do not hide, do they?
I'm not sure where any of that came from, but this poem affected my heart more than I wish to describe. It's one of those days where I cannot justify happiness.
...and so it became interesting to write about the mundane - maybe master of the short story Guy-de-Maupassant's tale 'The Piece of String' was a pivotal experience... ha ha.
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