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March 16th 2009

    The aedicule survives.  It ponders the future by grasping the future as a fiction and the past as uncertainty.  Hardly the wish of the hungry or of those river dwellers.  So why does it survive.

    If I think of life as the product of a chemical soup struck suddenly by a lightening bolt, then either I must think of myself as a short chemical reaction, or as the gift of a vengeful God.

     Neither is correct.  Both are products of conspiracy.  That sitting around in contemplation of obedience.

 

    Yet the mote in my eye has it's origins too.  I wish to belong to a universal.  That thing which is life.  Not as a storm trooper, but as a belonging part, and here the idea of order has begun to offend me.

    Life is chaos, life forms are orderly.  In the end the question is are all atoms the same, or do they just behave that way.

    If I could answer this question I would know exactly when to plant the potatoes.

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