I can’t say I didn’t expect this, but it still stings a little. What sucks most is that they were right. By the way, no amount of fancy words and fake sympathy makes no one feel any better. I’m being completely honest; I’m not really that upset. I am, though, a little annoyed with myself, them, our system, etc.
I don’t often consider what I put into my mouth. My family is not Italian, and we do not often flock to the dinner table. Food isn’t religious to me. More often than not, I will consider food and the activities involving its consumption a complete, and utter waste of time.
Enter corporation Monsanto (notice what extreme pains the author has taken to disguise blame!) offering a wonderfully new medical procedure. They will cut your arm off for you at small cost, saving you millions of hours of otherwise hard and fruitless labor. Better, they will cut it off for you, without asking if you would like to remove your arm, then sue you because you’re now violating a patent they hold involving armless lifestyles. I really couldn’t think of a good metaphor, but when I think more, Monsanto doesn’t really deserve one.
I don’t think about my food often, but I’m thinking about it now. I will pay good money for a company that brings me organic foods. I may not consider my food, but my health is up in there in my list of priorities. If I eat something that you have genetically modified and later produced, will you claim to own me? Do you really think you can patent life, and then charge me for it, destroy all alternatives, and crush what is essentially freedom? I’m sorry, you picked the wrong GPL fan-boy to piss off… This is an open complaint and threat to anyone in Monsanto or a like company: stay away from me, my family, and my world.
What have I gotten myself into this time? I’m fucked if I don’t, and very unhappy if I don’t. Would it make any difference if I said I really wanted to go, but was so petrified of messing something new up that I don’t want to? That’s not really it anymore, it used to be, though. Now I’m so fucking sick of you cock-suckers being pricks all the time. No, that was a bit too harsh to mean my thoughts. By all means, I love it– I love looking at the stars in the morning, but I’m not sure that outweighs the thought that if you really wanted me to come, I would have known before today. Maybe just this once I’ll give up on the planning and enjoy myself, it must be a nice place. Isn’t that right?
The crucified planet Earth,
should it find a voice
and a sense of irony,
might now well say
of our abuse of it,
“Forgive them, Father,
They know not what they do.”
The irony would be
that we know what
we are doing.
When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor
of the Grand Canyon,
“It is done.”
People did not like it here.