If I Was Mao, Minions Would Heat Winter’s Sky and Paste Leaves Back On Trees

If I Was Mao, Minions Would Heat Winter's Sky and Paste Leaves Back On Trees

Okay. This series will be over soon. I just like the theme. Chairman of Earth. Control of a dragon force so powerful that seasons change by my declaration. Are there ice dragons? Otherwise I’d have to tackle the problem of massive air conditioning unit distribution in summer. Or, I can have factories, coal houses, and my dragon minions cough enough soot to smog the skies. Difficult to control though… Might end up freezing solid all the capillaries of my people.

Oh well. It’s hard work being leader of a billion children who are fool enough to follow the leader. It’s like having all those puppies needing to go out or have their food dishes attended to at the same time. A bureaucratic, head-spinning nightmare!

Some writing from my new book Last Communion that deals with atmosphere manipulation:

Headlines from NPR would have us assume that global warming just stopped, and that summer’s upstart is warm breeze and strawberries and wild fauna nesting soundly in the tall grass, swimming peacefully in pure and wild, wet waters, nibbling moist berries off the endless lush produce of mother earth…
NPR is government propaganda. Someone at the top of their machine is having lunch with Goebbels.

We could stop to get our bearings, reassess our dependencies, head into the future with strong backs and determination, but will not move a millimeter until our dollar takes its final nose dive into oblivion.
Still, with minimal effort we can break out of surface denial by making atmosphere talk our first attempt at every conversation. We could become mindful once again and use our cleanliness and good health and swell science to imitate 14th century Japanese royalty. We could write poetry, take day walks, axe to death the Carnegie Steel and Rockefeller Oil Earth-hating drive-about we depend on more than our neighbors and families. We could naturalize our lives with creative job creation. That means we choose our local economies and dress them to our own survival tastes. Oil execs might have to be tortured gently. Fracking giants could have their heads politely lopped off. Military brass would get the picture after a sound fragging by its own sentient cannon fodder.
These punishing days will come. What’s unbelievable is that the majority of intelligent human beings refuse to articulate this with any regular pattern.
Geeze, even without a blog to help clear her fuzzier dreams, the woolly mammoth got smitten with bright yellow buttercups still digesting.
So, carpe diem, verdad?
Yes, of course. But let’s do it with some class. Let us witness some poetry crawl out of this Walmart funk hole we’ve born ourselves into. Use our liberal educations—read what the dead dogs wrote to become  living lions once again. Don’t let the consumer culture barons fool you any longer. The woolly mammoth was a blind consumer too. What was lost in non-acquisition of petroleum plastics, she made up for a thousand times by expressing her true nature.
Express your true nature. Become who you were before you were born. Focus your dreams toward creative survival. Yes, even with the weekly trade off of coins for Scott Tissue paper. Doom should be the only preoccupation of any species’ grown-up. Even the crazed mega-neuronopolis doom of the human being king.

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