“To witness some queer, shy, misshapen, grey-headed, self-important, little discoverer of great discoveries, ridiculously adorned with the wide ribbon of some order of chivalry and holding a reception of his fellow-men, or to read the anguish of Nature at the "neglect of science" when the angel of the birthday honours passes the Royal Society by, or to listen to one indefatigable lichenologist commenting on the work of another indefatigable lichenologist, such things force one to realise the unfaltering littleness of men.”
If your opinion on the lectotypificaiton
of Aspicilia reticulata was a cheeseburger
it would be stale fast food dollar menu
stuck to the inside of the bag
When you rail against the phylogeny of Micarea prasina
like so much talk radio conspiracy theory nonsense
how will anyone heed the call
to curb carbon emissions and slow the change in climate
We kick and scream
the mewlings of the self-righteous
shots we say will be heard round the world
that will not echo beyond the door into the hallway
The walls reverberate
our own voices whispering back into our ears
and doesn’t it seem someone is agreeing with us
That we are not alone on our soapbox
A million research studies all predict impending doom
at our own hands
a million authors, et al, dialing out and wondering why
no one will pick up the phone
Each the president of our own fan club
self-appointed critic to the masses
yanking up our britches and spraying gravel into our voice
in the hope of being ignored with dignity
Not unlike the polyspory nature of Melanophloea and Thelocarpaceae
our delusions of self-importance evolve convergently
Nothing else about us is the same
but that we cast our brooding into wind that will not blow
― H.G. Wells, The Food of the Gods and How It Came to Earth
If your opinion on the lectotypificaiton
of Aspicilia reticulata was a cheeseburger
it would be stale fast food dollar menu
stuck to the inside of the bag
When you rail against the phylogeny of Micarea prasina
like so much talk radio conspiracy theory nonsense
how will anyone heed the call
to curb carbon emissions and slow the change in climate
We kick and scream
the mewlings of the self-righteous
shots we say will be heard round the world
that will not echo beyond the door into the hallway
The walls reverberate
our own voices whispering back into our ears
and doesn’t it seem someone is agreeing with us
That we are not alone on our soapbox
A million research studies all predict impending doom
at our own hands
a million authors, et al, dialing out and wondering why
no one will pick up the phone
Each the president of our own fan club
self-appointed critic to the masses
yanking up our britches and spraying gravel into our voice
in the hope of being ignored with dignity
Not unlike the polyspory nature of Melanophloea and Thelocarpaceae
our delusions of self-importance evolve convergently
Nothing else about us is the same
but that we cast our brooding into wind that will not blow
Comments
Post a Comment