Seeds on Stone
I spend too much mental energy on trying to justify the continued existence of the human race. The cost of the few true creators throughout our history, the intellectual and artistic flowers of the species, is waste: the unremarked lives and deaths of the billions who have contributed only their labor and their blood. Their lives have enabled war, slavery and the plunder of the earth's riches. They rise in rebellion only when they have nothing left to lose, when they've lost the fight to protect and sustain the conditions of their little lives. And in doing so, as often as not, they become the mirror image of their oppressors. The human species learns nothing from its own history, its past. It sees into the future only as far as necessary to get through another day, week, month. To say that humanity deserves the chaos descending on it, misses the point. That chaos is the inevitable outcome of species flaws that we have proven unable to overcome. The flowering of creative and