It's All Performance Art 11

I sometimes wonder when it is going to be time for me to stop writing this blog, to wrap everything up and find something else to do. Except, writing this blog is for me something else to do. Or so it seems. I do repeat myself a lot throughout these pages, I suppose that is going to be inevitable, especially given that I write something here very day, and after six years of this, well, I might be always running the risk of running out of fresh material. It's all been said. Not just by me. It has all been said throughout the ages, by many wise ones and sages. Pardon the rhyming, it must be my timing. Whoops. One more time a silly little rhyming. okay, I'll stop before you go running out of the room screaming, Gentle Reader, though maybe you must be dreaming. Or rather, aught up in a nightmare. Ho's that for a scare? But it's basically the same truth that gets always spoken and repeated. And because most of us are so forgetful, stubborn, dense and pig-headed and downright selfish and venal, nothing really gets absorbed, or perhaps just a little bit. so then, why do we act surprised when the arbiters of greed insist that they have to go on with deep extracting, processing and delivering to market the fuels of death, even if this is just going to hasten our end? Unless that's all histrionics, but really, darlings, if you want to see histrionics, then just wait a dozen more years till it's too late and we are all hunkering down because of killer hurricanes, floods, wildfires and droughts and we are all scrambling to find something to eat while people around us are dropping dead from starvation exhaustion and disease, and civilization as we know it croaks out its final death rattle?. That is not even necessarily worst-case. But now we are all Cassandra and Cassandra is everywhere. Anyone remember Cassandra? She was a princess of Troy whom the god Apollo had the hots for, so he gave her a gift of prophecy. She wouldn't let him into her knickers so the spiteful god (very good-looking, apparently, and knew it) fell into an absolute snit and tweaked Cassandra's gift of prophecy so that no one would believe anything she told them, even though it was all true and all to be fulfilled. So Cassandra presaw the greek invasion and conquest of Troy, and everyone getting slaughtered, so of course she sounded the alarm. No one listened to her. And, of course, it happened as she said it would. It's all been written. It's all already been said. But it seems that we have to go on repeating ourselves, and perhaps always finding new, fresh and original ways of rephrasing the same message, the same warning, because we are all so very slow to learn. We have taken the gift of fire and now we are setting our house on fire.