The springs of being somehow got built into Nature it would appear. Nature being the only thing life can be traced to. Some thinkers have seen its apparently indefatigable operation as unbenign. It's easy to see why. It can certainly seem like a killing machine that can't be stopped. A machine that mows while it sows.
Imagination breeds possibilities, and possibilities can haunt and frighten. No one can see past their surrounds, so backgrounds are made up. Even ones that are contradicted by all one can know.
All I know is that in this game, the one that has been played over and over ad infinitum on planet earth, the dealer has always held all the cards. Maybe a fluke of evolution will eventually turn the tables. But personally, I think their turning will depend on a different sort of lucky accident. Like William Tell's arrow miraculously hitting some tiny speck it was aimed at, or a wave of antimatter leaving a swath of space void.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow comes to mind. We shall see what the morrow brings. Likely a repeat of today. But possibility is limitless.
I wish your new book a good reception. Was asking myself what category of lit. it might fit into. Historical analysis? Have you found a publisher I wonder? Or are you maybe intending to publish
The springs of being somehow got built into Nature it would appear. Nature being the only thing life can be traced to. Some thinkers have seen its apparently indefatigable operation as unbenign. It's easy to see why. It can certainly seem like a killing machine that can't be stopped. A machine that mows while it sows.
Imagination breeds possibilities, and possibilities can haunt and frighten. No one can see past their surrounds, so backgrounds are made up. Even ones that are contradicted by all one can know.
All I know is that in this game, the one that has been played over and over ad infinitum on planet earth, the dealer has always held all the cards. Maybe a fluke of evolution will eventually turn the tables. But personally, I think their turning will depend on a different sort of lucky accident. Like William Tell's arrow miraculously hitting some tiny speck it was aimed at, or a wave of antimatter leaving a swath of space void.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow comes to mind. We shall see what the morrow brings. Likely a repeat of today. But possibility is limitless.
I wish your new book a good reception. Was asking myself what category of lit. it might fit into. Historical analysis? Have you found a publisher I wonder? Or are you maybe intending to publish
it yourself?