“God Blast It”

It’s like being flabbergasted when you stop to think that the almighty woman has us cluster in cities for her then scatters us to isolated rooms in caverns on the edge of cliffs during the cipher era – the already written, technically plucked from plethora philosophy years when we’ve become better at what we do without trying era – the age when we have a revelation moment looking at what God meant showing up in a similar composition from somewhere else before appearing on a page written by someone who didn’t really get the point of her banishing us to caves to start all over again.

“God blast it,” I’ve heard said before when the damn writing wasn’t going her way. 

Her words are greater than ours from the standpoint of a jaded follower hanging out on a craggy out-cropping writhing in the sun with super wide eyes and a penchant for drooling over paintings from dead masters who paint with sideways swirl styles and point precision perfunctory at the halfway mark through recorded history before everything became so similar, drawing her attention back into art, motivating her to speak again while we anticipate another new art form to emerge as ancient styles have a revival that we can’t seem to modify.

If we repeat history as it has been written we can do everything the same way again up until that point when things went wrong, which is always or whenever. That point when we all need to say “God blast it.”

Take the banishing to cliff dwellings as a blessing so we emerge again into the new era of stargazing and gathering of stream water to get us further along the trail and away from keeping the outside alive inside for sustenance. Upon re-emerging take the flickering light and burn whole mountain sides so you can run like hell again. Have a dance with the ones you spent generations trying to not go insane dancing only with them. Find new ways to teach that you were the link to fifty generations before and the catalyst to fifty generations ahead. Be prepared to learn that the words of those final days of sunshine will be the final words of the first new days of sunshine, spoken like a threatening curse or a final command because that damn writing wasn’t going her way.