On the good and evil of nature, questions and answers, and a four-feathered bird bottom.

 

 

From the natural world, an occasion or something pockmarked by various things, cratered by the flying storm of detritus that is the modern conversation--a saving grace then, to cut the noise.

In my cups again, and feeling no pain, I wagged the bird ahead of the dog, whacked the dog on the head with the four-feathered bird ass.

I said if it was natural, then it was explicitly a good, and not an evil, no matter that stance of perception, that a natural thing was by nature a good, by reason of faith, by faith in reason that these things transcend subjectivity of the being a remain static, objective principles of life and the cosmos.

The Nuclear Snowstorm.  Not an evil, but just a thing, and by faith we can sheepishly apply the label "good" to it, if we can maintain feeling enough to grab the post-it and the tape, we can put a name on that sucker for all posterity, and say, no matter how many crashed, died, lost property or what not, it was not an evil because it was natural.

By the same token, people whispered that the Christmas Tsunami was an act of God undertaken on vacationers in a foreign land; but was it an act of vengeance, or just a thing?  Was it the sea coming forward to claim them, the idle vacationers, balls out on the warm sand?

*an act of nature is without conscience and only a product, and by that token is neither good nor evil.

By the same token, are all my whims acts of good or ill, being products of nature?  Why, I can stamp with my own judgements that I don't do bad things, but perhaps things that provide chiefly for my own providence, and towards others, decidedly less so, with my own comfort or esteem the chief aim, the reason'du'tre, the raison detre of the whole piece.

If Banana Pudding is pudding and bananas, then explain Baby Powder, or Motor Oil, or the Christmas stockings hung before the roaring fire?  Did Grandmum remove her stockings, hang them up neatly, then climb into the fire?

So we have posed questions to the universe, and expecting answers, as neatly as Grandmum's naked legs roasting in the fire, and we have only a time stream from which to deduce and extrapolate our answers, a timeline that is at once an answer, and a kind of celestial EKG of God, from which our largely-untrained eyes puzzle to put together responses amidst little blips: slashes and dots. 

Give to the site, if so inclined.