Wildes Writing

One day we’ll split the Red Sea again to put a freeway there.

Be there a fish down the middle, he’d be a stowaway – he doesn’t belong there – he isn’t welcome.

Did you hear? We synthesized a mouse’s brain on a computer – we don’t even need them now to crawl into their heads.

You show them food, their brain tells them to grab it; we know this now for fact – we tried.

So much for freewill.

Why would we be different?

We castrated the watermelon, we took out its seeds, its primary purpose on a biological level – gone; now it only serves as a food product.

It has been removed from The Earth’s cycle outside of consumption.

Us humans, he who has neutered the melon, have become the watermelon’s God.

And this is our goal for the rest of our mother’s, The Earth’s, milk, as it were. We are spoiled children who have decided to play God, we have abandoned the sanctity of that which is natural.

Maybe we play God because we’re so utterly terrified of our cosmic retribution –

for the raping of this planet,

for the genocide of her and our kin.

We’re the black sheep of the animal kingdom, the violent uncle at Thanksgiving.

And we really think everyone else is the problem?