On Flat Earth Theory: "For the Earth is a dinner plate, and I have traversed the sky."

 

The very linchpin of flat earth theory is mistrust in politics.  Let a president talk about going to the moon, and the dishonest business of politics and the popular line of talk are lampooned by what, 30%, 40% of the country?  A republican be, or worse yet a democrat?

"We will go the moon, not because it is easy, but because it is hard."

Story line, that, to be made spectacle of for a class of invested, professional journalists, some with celebrity, reputation, even station.  I don't begrudge people like Thomas Friedman a paycheck, though.  There is a certain indefinite hope of liberated thought in that, which draws one.

What is this new thing?  What is new is of old, circa 14th century?  The earth is flat?

And yet, with the advent of flight, pilots have been high enough in the sky to perceive the curve along the horizon with their own two eyes.

How then doth a GPS divine one's position along the poles of the earth?  The Force?  The Titan Mogambo?  Wiggling its toes and wishing?  Is not the earth so much like a teenage girls round bottom?

There was, for the not-so-easily-bored, Mathematics.

Look at that nexus in the graphic, be that China?  The Mileu Peninsula?  Monaco?  There was a film once in the popular consciousness called "What Lies Beneath", and I remember too, the 76 ford with C6 transmission, it wouldn't shift to third gear, so I stopped, crawled under and put the vacuum line back on the modulator valve.

Where was I going with my diatribe? Oh yes, Grandmother's house, and somewhere towards the Renaissance Era, which incidentally, the conspiracists might deny too.

Or how they say Einstein suggested the possibilities of a something like GPS, "you could take a stick, from the surface to the sky."  If that's so, then maybe I invented or "helpfully suggested" a few things, my own friggin self.

"Where's that stick, Albert?"  But look yet at that curvature, that gradient, smell of sweet candy, the law making her liberated, and tank-top straps on her bare shoulders, Technical college id badge hanging from a lanyard on her rearview mirror, like Balzac taking to the open air for a pull of Opium and a word with a lady.

Yes, dear, hand to me, the trash from the backseat, just turn and reach back there, and I will be the security of your bottom end, raised into the air like the Titanic as it went finally and implaccably under as the universe watched indifferently, people in life boats, and my hovering at the drivers door, Idiot Wind of her air conditioning, smell of her body wash, perfume, and, quixotically, bestill thyself oh my soul, lotion.

When they made it political, I wot, the setting upon the rails, to the commoner maybe more off the rails than on, haphazard and agreed upon, made into popular storyline; why, it was like my old house, how we painted the front, but not the back, and after I time, I saw rust as I spent more time back there, even a picnic table, reading things like Popular Ecology and Onanist Monthly Annual Tips and Tricks.

You mean I had to do math?

Peace be still, meesh negroes.

And Seneca himself said a man who follows the crowd is lead by fools, and another, who said to put himself in charge was to be lead by fools.  Indeed, if you did the common thing, you get the common result, and the popular thing, the popular result, and for so many, a "come to Jesus" moment in which the realized their dreams where not so well defined, and fame was, well, like farting in a quietened library.