Dance Band on the Titanic

I give up. I surrender. The fire within my soul has died, for the decks of this Titanic are now tilting, and the band plays on. I will be joining the orchestra, taking my place next to the percussion section, enjoying those minutes afforded me by the fates which have allowed the human race to engineer it's own extinction. I cannot save the world, my strident voice will have no impact whatsoever on the events which will unfold and take us all beneath the metaphoric waves of this cold, unforgiving sea. I know this sounds defeatist, but allowing that, I also claim it reeks of reality, and the truth that occupies the depth of my soul is frightenly similar to that which must have haunted the Jews in the Polish ghetto as they awaited the trains that would haul them by the boxcar to their ends. What could THEY have done about it when the entire world was taking it's own sweet time even acknowledging that what was happening to the Jews could even happen in a modern, "civilized" world. Since that horror unfolded, repeated genocides have occurred, the bulk of mankind has been slow to respond, and, yes, the band plays on.

The consumer society, modern warfare, and climate change now have proven once and for all that science really can't plug all the holes in the dike. The dikes are failing, the flood waters are rising, and no one is even considering building an ark. Even the great myth of the murderous flood unleashed upon a sinful mankind by an even more sinful Supreme being had some sort of disaster planning at it's core. Where is our Noah now?

And I tire of it. I tire of shouting at a very, VERY small audience that happens by my blog and pretty much has already agreed with me concerning these things, but is equally impotent in the face of a humanity damned determined to prove superior to lemmings in the ability to commit suicide. I know you all care; I know you all, at least in your hearts, fear what looms ahead of us and probably have banged your own heads on unyielding walls of inaction. So, you understand why I have decided to no further weigh this chronicle down with further rantings about the state of the world, for even had this blog been chock full of solutions to our quandary, who would have read them, believed them, then deployed them, having come from one as common as I? I cannot make the difference that matters, thus I will no longer suffer the impotence I bring to this fight, and let mankind lay in the bed it insists on making.

So, when and if you choose to revisit this dimension in the cyber-universe, you will read of one square acre of untainted sand, called Pendragon Hold by it's residents, and will be kept abreast of the reality that occurs here, however mundane and unadventurous it will seem to be. You will know what happens to one man, two women, a dog, two cats, three goats, a flying squirrel, a leopard gecko, and a snake, but mostly you'll be kept informed about the three humans. You may also hear of those who come and go and are related in some form or fashion to us, but respecting their privacy, that information will be somewhat limited. You may catch an occasional snide remark from me concerning the state of the nation, but no longer will you find me repainting a portrait that all of you can see well enough without my own personal illumination.

I'm sorry; you'll just have to turn to Bill Moyer or Bill Maher for the truth from now on.........they do it much better than I do anyway. Like it matters.