The shame of not being one of Earth's heroes in The Amalgamated Aggromulator

I did not write anything for Earth Day yesterday.

I thought of it, but I wasn’t up early, and Mom needed my time through the day . . . I don’t know what to say still. Aside from the same old songs. While the bleaching of most of the Great Barrier Reef is there like a mountain standing in the middle of the subject. Or it should be.

As with torture. As with anything. The thing about unthinkable milestones is that they’re in the mind - from a distance - from a proper distance. If you reach them, they’re just this thing that you walk past. And then even if you’re not a fan of what just happened you have trouble blowing things out of proportion (into proportion?) even to yourself. After all, this is today. Not like those other unthinkable milestones up there in the future.

I am having trouble imagining my audience.

Should I say a prayer to things we’re not doing? Should I maybe go on a mad research tour about something again? Whose ear would I put it in? I don’t put things in people’s ears. I haven’t got the faintest idea why anyone should listen to me. In which direction would I take up arms?

Even the commonplace explanations . . . Should I instead warm myself (ouch, phrasing) on reassuring trends that are going on in the world? Solar-panel technology continues to develop. Drip, drip, drip. Except more exponentially. I haven’t seen anything that says it’s going to be enough, fast enough, for any particular target. But I haven’t seen anything that gives a particular discouraging view either. I really don’t know . . . Can’t warm myself on that.

Should I leave it all to the people and entities who are involved in some signal way?

You know, I would really like to be part of a group that in some way would need me to think out some things and that would have a reason to read what I wrote. There are people who are clever about such things. (And many of those people finished college.)

I always wanted to be crew. I didn’t manage that. I’m a passenger who pays some attention to the view out of the portholes.

I am very bad at playing missionary to people who have not asked me to. Or who don’t want me to.

I can at least make use of friends’ earholes to work out some things - and put ideas in the universe, contribute to the stream, I’ve thought (and with it being no merely passive venting, and with my friends not passive either) . . . but the one mass desertion has shaken me. There was no recent such large conversation with them, so it wasn’t me abusing their earholes that did it . . . but it makes me feel as ephemeral as Open Diary. Dispensable, erasable. No one is waiting for my best.

The occasion sets my personal issues against the great shadowed backdrop of a planet.

The bleaching of the Great Barrier Reef is my shame.

That’s not a power delusion, but I was here. I am here.

Should I instead have written that paean to the ITER project? Should I have gotten into incentives as a grand key concept? Should this entry have been a grand sally toward a world plan, what should be? It’s possible that tomorrow morning will find me in a different mood, developed from this one, from this seed to obsession to explanazade, and I’ll write some evidence that I was at least sentient about Earth Day. And in that writing I would let myself as a topic fade into the middle background where it belongs and I would concoct some fine apparent evidence that my brain is of some use.

This year is going to be a scorcher.

He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.

(Edit: For compulsiveness’s sake, a link to a time I did go off and fix my head by laying out a general picture:
1. Main entry: https://www.prosebox.net/entry/203849/
2. Follow-up on details: https://www.prosebox.net/entry/206792/
I don’t know that I recommend it; from this end looking back it just looks terribly under-edited and rambly. And, like I say, the real value of it . . . ?)

Last updated April 23, 2016