Many, when young see for the first time Friedrich Nietzsche's works and wonder at the strange titles they see.  The reason for this is straightforward enough: he believed that sensational titles sold books.  It's as simple as that.  This one reminds me of the America's Republican Party and the man who until recently they believed might be their king.  He certainly did.  He thought himself a Superman who was Beyond Good and Evil . Others believed he was the Antichrist, but he was neither.  Ecce Homo could perhaps be used to drive his base into a homophobic frenzy, but neither he nor  his vulgate base have likely heard of that Nietzsche title.

This is the supposedly 'Great Builder' and 'Real Estate Tycoon', a rich TV idol worshipped by base American Idiots who were lured in by endless lies, blinded by bullshit and who still can't realize that he is actually just a cheap crook, and charlatan at best.  And still he believes, narcissistically, that he is adored by all and won't accept truth that has becomes obvious to most - that he's not a nice guy at all.  Now the bills are coming due, to the tune of three or four hundred million and maybe a lot more that hasn't yet come to light. What a loser.

In the end he's one of that deluded sort (and there are lots of them) who wrongly believe that it's sour grapes when they are called an asshole instead of even considering that they might actually be one.  Oh, and their shit doesn't stink either.  That's one of the reasons why pricks like him are called assholes.

​He's the kind of self-absorbed dickhead who declares bankruptcy rather than pay his legitimate bills and debts claiming that it's the art of the deal, when it's really an outright back door steal.  More than that, the recent much contested election and its multiple recounts prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that he's a loser too: a big one named Donald John Trump.  The majority of the electorate has had enough of his trumpery and want this American carnage stopped now as it will after Jan. 20.

Events of late show his state of mind.  Of course that has been and will continue to be disputed, like these much more important events happening in America now, by equally unhinged followers and such doubts will probably linger now too after the rump's attempted coup de tat or whatever that capital insurrection was supposed to be by his far, far right-wing bullshit cult. What a fucking loser!

Freidrich Nietzsche went crazy too in his final years.  Another was hitler, but even old adolf, in his lunacy  knew when the gig was up and what he should do about it.

​On a lighter note, people really should still watch local TV news in these unbalanced days.  Even if what's going on is hard to hear, it's really not fake news and occasionally amusing things do happen.  Here in locked down Toronto, on New Year's Eve an uninformed crowd of some hundreds gathered in Nathan Phillips Square and waited like sheep for entertainment that had been cancelled long before.  But I'm sure they figured it out after a bit.  People usually do eventually.

In Toronto, one trend beginning to become popular lately and long overdue is the focus away from the longstanding and largely American notion that 'the car is king and 'that's that' period.  City planning has actually become a little more user friendly for people as opposed by being ruled by the demands of the gas guzzler.  Bike lanes continue to appear and street use is being reconsidered in several areas with automobile traffic not necessarily foremost in mind.  Once again city hall is contemplating eliminating vehicular traffic on Yonge St.

On King St. a project to curtail the 4 wheeled beast (it was faster to walk than take the street car) has - not without local business and driver opposition - significantly reduced transit times through that downtown corridor since its implementation.  And hopefully, if this is  a slight shift in attitude towards a more European model it will prove more friendly to those mortal enemies of the automobile: the pedestrian and the cyclist. 

40 pedestrians and  4 cyclists were killed last year by automobiles - mainly because - 'they got in the way' and after all 'time is money'!  Yes, yes that's life.  But the ever increasing funneling of the suburban and GTA vehicles and their emissions into the city spaces where less and less parking is available, tenable or affordable should lead some to finally consider basic well known common sense ideas like: LIVE NEAR WHERE YOU WORK!!! Because if time actually is money why do so many lemmings still commute?  Don't get me started on all the 'wonders' or the supposed 'economy' of the suburbs.  What do commuters really get to enjoy?  How much is it worth, wasting hour upon hour, so much of their lives on some highway?

These days in the heart of the city gas stations are disappearing and like parking lots are being sold off for development. Condos are now more lucrative investments and these are now often being built with the limited parking being divided between bike racks and automobile spaces. If more walked instead of riding enclosed in the mobile AC, the air might even become a bit cleaner outside and people might breathe a bit easier too.

Anywhere that people can work, live and shop without recourse to the four lane or the free way is more energy efficient and should lead to a higher quality of life especially if one considers the idea with winter in mind. Just like the car, it would be climate controlled.  Here are some examples:

The Well project, a downtown Toronto development has certainly shown some foresight or insight or special kind of vision for the future in its design at Front St. and Spadina Avenue.  6 residential towers and 1 office tower are all to be connected by a shopping mall, sitting atop below ground parking and a "well" that draws water from Lake Ontario to help heat and cool the whole complex seasonally,

The Yorkdale Mall and other and other shopping centres have apparently turned a corner too and independently realized that a few parallel changes might be in order as well.  Yorkdale plans as well to bury its parking and build housing on the freed area around the mall.

Other solutions are now being considered as well to increase affordable housing in the city like low rise apartment buildings on lots too small for high-rises. Housing near transit have obvious environmental advantages.  High-rises should always have 'conveniences' at their bases and Plazas should always be built with residential units above of the 'usual' retail shopping, because that's a built-in customer base if there ever was one.  Oh, there'd be parking too, at the back!

The personal automobile for many is a necessary evil, if they can afford it.  Yes, It's  comfortably addictive, that's a given, but people shouldn't allow it to be the driving force in their lives.

​…is a failure to communicate.’  This story is basically about small-towners.  The town in question had started out small and stayed that way - in more ways than one - for a long time as other places around it grew and developed over time.  If it makes it easier to visualize, one might imagine a town remarkably like St. Marys Ontario, for instance.
 
Once upon a time in the small town, three boys went to school, became friends and grew up together.  Of course they were not identical; in some ways they were very different and they too developed differently over time as well.
 
One was born elsewhere, had been to other towns and even cities too when young.  He knew there were not only bigger, but also better places to live.  The other two didn't.  That was one difference between him and the other two boys.
 
Of the other two one was a bit thick both bodily and intellectually as well and sometimes he could inadvertently say or do something stupid or hurting occasionally.  The other was taller, leaner and meaner.  He thought himself something of a wit, though he wasn’t nearly as witty as he thought. He was a part time pig and a full time clown.  When he said stupid or hurtful things, he did so on purpose for the entertainment value, without regard for the truth of what he was saying or its effect on those it involved.  Still, the two were both born and bred hicks so it follows that they were naturals at exchanging and spreading gossip.  The one from out of town witnessed and experienced all of his companions’ characteristics during his acquaintance with them.
 
Now it came to pass that the one who had been elsewhere found work elsewhere as well.  Then he only visited the tiny backwater on occasion.  After some further unfortunate events, he decided that he could do without the thick hick or 'dipstick' for a time, while the wit\shit he could do without on the whole, for the duration.
 
So the years went by.  Then, just like that, things began to happen all at once.  The out-of-towner found that the lad he could do without permanently was trying to reach him.  He didn’t reply, but it inspired him somehow to try to contact the other.  He sent his phone number to the thick one through a mutual friend.  This ambassador understood, gave tubby the information and tried to make it clear that it was to be shared no further.  Yet, lo and behold, inexplicably, it was the other, who couldn’t have known the number on his own, who called back.   There was only one way he could have learned it.  It just shows that you can't teach old hicks new tricks.  The unwelcome caller got what he deserved, in two words.  The other got silence.
 
There seems almost a moral or some kind of justice somewhere the way things turned out in this little narrative.  And because this tale is about as realistic as the  gossip that spreads like wildfire  through dull, out-of-the-way, stick-in-the-mud, shit hole towns, some people might even think they recognize the people involved or feel that they know them personally.  To me, it’s so familiar that it could have happened just last week.  But after all, it’s only a story, isn’t it?

​ 
After all the observations I’ve made on cannabis a.k.a. ‘the wicked weed’, I knew that sooner or later that I’d have to make some comment about its new legality in Canada and more particularly in Ontario at the online Ontario Cannabis Store (http//OCS.com).
 
On that site it is claimed that 150,000 orders were placed in the first week of operation.  Many must have been curious; Mona and I haven’t been shy either.  In recent purchases we bought 3 different varieties: Cold Creek Kush by Redecan, Bali Kush by Liiv and Radiate by WDBX (short for Weedbox).  Redecan is a producer of medical marijuana located in the Niagara peninsula just west of Niagara Falls near the village of Fenwick.  Liiv is some part of Canntrust, also a medical marijuana producer located in Vaughn and the Niagara area.  I couldn’t find locate WDBX’s actual location, but it has quite a website.  
 
At the OCS site a wide variety of brands and strengths are available at a wide range of prices starting at $7.50 a gram, though some of the cheapest and strongest were out of stock on different days when I ordered.  1, 3.5, 7 and 14 gram sizes may soon be available although only the smallest 2 sizes were on hand when we ordered, so we bought multiples.  30 grams are the maximum that can be purchased at a time.  Debit ‘Visa’ cards are the ticket for ordering online if one doesn’t have a regular credit card.  
 
Weeks of testing followed these discoveries.

In regards to packaging, the shipments came fully sealed in plastic jars, 3.5 grams a piece, similar to those used for makeup or face cream.  In one instance 3 jars arrived each inside a small plainly labeled cardboard box, surrounded, protectively by paper in an even larger cardboard box surrounded and inside a plain, bubble-wrapped postal envelope.  This seems a little much, especially since each plastic jar had only a pharmaceutically measured 3.5 grams that left the jar only a third full!
 
Delivery was made in 4 days (when the rotating mail strike was on) for the first order and in less than 3 days for the next 2 and arrived by standard mail from Canada Post right to our apartment door.  Only a scrawl on some sort of tablet was asked for since we both look considerably older than nineteen.  The $5.65 added in the purchase for delivery seemed a pretty good deal given the downright inconvenient inconveniences that so often accompanied deals before this deal became an option.
 
But one asks, is this legal weed any good?  Upon first opening the sealed jar the product is dry, aromatic and largely free of sticks.  It grinds easily and rolls just as evenly.  Virtually no coughing occurs or is heard as a joint is passed around.  Most importantly, before the joint is finished the buzz starts developing into what I would call a nice high.  It all starts at about $220 an ounce.  Of course some can do better no doubt.  For those who can’t, do the math yourselves: it might be worth your while to shop around. 
 
There are those who will worry about big brother, tracking devices, surveillance cameras and other evil government schemes and intrusions (real or imagined) but I haven’t felt paranoid about the new system yet.  In fact, it’s hassle free and the feeling is more a sense of long overdue relief.

 Even after reading the first three parts of ‘Recherché du Temps Perdue’ (In Search of Lost Time) a.k.a. ‘Remembrances of Things Past’, bragging in an earlier blog about it and then pausing to draw a few breaths that were perhaps considerably longer than originally intended, I stopped in to one of my favorite secondhand bookstores one day, possibly drawn by some inexplicable force, but more likely from force of habit, where I began to search for those numbers of the work I’d not read, knowing that in the end, I must eventually learn what the remaining parts of the piece contained, almost as if swept along  by some flow, a stream of consciousness or another spark of current to find once and for all answers to the question its title seems to provoke so that I might describe the whole piece in a style similar to Marcel Proust’s.  In other words,   I needed something new to read, as did Mona and Proust    wouldn’t be finished or blogged about until I'd read the rest of it 

Later and after a search through more than one bookstore, actually having in ones hands all of the requisite volumes, used though they be and cobbled together in editions and translations from different publishers as a complete text, one pauses again knowing it has become something that has to be dealt with not necessarily immediately, but in just the right way, because the whole thing may be too heavy to carry around for any longer than necessary, in whatever way it’s looked at.

​But that’s not why one pauses, is it?  No, and it’s not even because the novel's languid pace  has become either  infectious or on the other hand, lulled one to sleep.  After the reader has turned enough pages through the ensuing volumes he or she becomes comfortable enough with Proust's ‘fictional’ characters they have followed from the first as well as those they've met since continuing, that they don’t want to see them disappear once the bottom of the final page is reached. It’s natural, other epics have had this effect and this one joins them, taking one back in time to special memories that either still touch one sentimentally or haunt a person in some other almost subconscious  way.  And the reader may decide that Proust was to some degree been toying with his audience as well,  with his sentence structure and style merely because he enjoyed entertaining them in a way distinctly, artistically and in a fashion different from the usual fare of the day.

Gustave Flaubert is one author who inspired Proust, but to me this story is more reminiscent of some of Emile Zola's raunchier efforts, albeit  far more subtle and far, far longer.  In both, the Paris portrayed is  bursting with a ‘colourful’ or ‘questionable’ morality that shows the broad range of behavior making up the metropolis where the elite played and the where the Moulin Rouge -   in  it's time -    must have fit right in, simply one facet of some grand kaleidoscopic gem.

Admittedly, the tale is not for any without the patience or the time to enjoy it.  And it’s certainly not for those without a modicum of tolerance for the sexual proclivities exhibited by some characters after reaching Part Four: Sodom and Gomorrah or Cities of the Plain, as it’s more politely titled in some editions. A general atmosphere of decadence pervades the work, which for a few there degenerates into a thinly veiled depravity that by the final installments  seems to parallel the descent of the ‘Gilded Age’ into the madness of the first world war as it proceeds and which finally grinds to a halt, leaving the narrator’s social circle aged, as well as decimated  along with everything else in the 'new' world he sees.  But as he remembers it all and looks back he sees that there still with all the artistic and flowery (though more faded and jaded) horticultural references,   scattered   as if for contrast through those latter memories, remained the only one: the so called 'madeleine moment', that almost insignificant instance from the past that stood out, compared to the rest and seemed like it had happened  perhaps only  the day before.

It all ends with neither a bang nor a whimper, but simply, with the narrator of the tale having found, from all he’d seen and remembered, the brushstrokes necessary to apply to his own canvas,  he finally begins to contemplate  - it is implied -  that actual work which the reader is just finishing.  I too, after more words, time and effort than usually spent now put down this rambling blog that you, the current readers, have just now perused  to   see this piece as sketched as well.

 ​Some time has passed since my last blog and there may be those who think that the reason I’ve, been quiet is because I’m following the advice I gave there.  Perhaps that’s somewhat true, because there’s certainly been no shortage of topics to complain about, condemn, criticize, decry, gripe, rant, rave or satirize about.  After a while though, enough is enough.
 
Of course there’s always the trump that would be tyrant, but if Americans themselves have their heads stuck so far up their butts that they won’t do anything about the situation, why should I concern myself or try to influence others in the matter. In this country it’s time to sound the trumpet for heavy retaliatory tariffs on American goods and services and no time for leaders in Ottawa to be polite or whine like politically correct candy-asses.  It has to be CANADA FIRST and MAKE AMERICA PAY!!!  It’s the only way to deal with would be tyrants and bullies.  Maybe we should nationalize all of that asshole’s hotels and assets here; a lot of Americans think we’re ‘socialists\communists’ anyway.  As De Niro said ‘Fuck Trump!’
 
                                          Enough said!  Just look at the space I’ve wasted on that lying piece of shit.
 
We have our own array of bozos to deal with up here and no shortage in the Greater Toronto Area alone.  For instance, we’re having another ‘summer of the gun’.  It first got notice in 2005 with a big spike in gang related shootings and is becoming a more and more popular pastime locally. Our gangs in Toronto generally tend to be made up of Caribbean and most often Jamaican stock, as is obvious virtually every time when those dead or injured are wheeled away to ambulances on the evening news or when suspects are arrested.
 
This background has a seasonal impact on crime statistics.  In the late autumn there is a spike in shootings because all the killing needs to get done before Christmas.  Why?  Because a thin little hoodie and falling down gym pants aren’t near enough to keep one’s ass warm in a Canadian winter, let alone on people who are used to much warmer climes.  The result is that all the big, tough gang bangers go to ground like the rodents they are when the cold weather comes, to shiver, shake and nurse their grudges until the spring.  Then when it’s warm, they resurface and it slowly begins again. That’s what happens to some degree every year, but this time two rival downtown gangs are involved and it’s making a mess because it’s happening indiscriminately (eg. children shot in playgrounds) in heavily populated and fashionable downtown spots where hundreds of thousands work and play, in broad daylight.  It can’t be ignored there like it is when it happens up in the subsidized housing at Jane and Finch or at    other less chic  and less popular places in the city.  We stand at 51 homicides and 208 shootings so far this year unless more have happened in the time since I started this blog yesterday.  Normally, we have about 60 to 65 murders per annum.
 
Most of the weapons used are smuggled in from the U.S.A., so happy birthday America; the gun business is literally booming in this heat!

While recently reviewing the past year, I realized that the new one might hold all sorts of positive possibilities, given the fact that personally last year was one my most unsettled in a long time.  Mona, I’m sure would concur that this year cannot fail to be better.  Resolutions might be taken if one had the resolve to carry them out, but as a general rule, they seem predestined to be broken, unless they are something really simple. That’s what I think anyway.  And it also occurred to me that some often unrealistic resolutions wouldn’t be broken if these hyped up, vainglorious fantasies weren’t compared, discussed, or even mentioned in the first place.
 
                                              People really SHOULD pause to THINK, before they speak (tweet) or act.
 
 That goes for everyone.  It would save a lot of trouble everywhere and it seems simple enough, like a tip one might perhaps give to a child, relative or friend.  But in hindsight, when one looks back, recalling the mistakes, embarrassments and other disasters experienced or witnessed one sees that it’s clearly a common failing.  I know I’ve got my share of ghosts.  On the world stage, the inability to exercise some forethought before speaking is in no way uncommon either.  Just imagine what faux pas, both in one’s personal life and in the public record might have been averted, if that little axiom above had been applied and what might be prevented in the future.  Rashness rarely pays off in any situation and usually involves a certain amount of risk.
 
If voters had given some serious thought to who they were choosing before going to the polls in the last American presidential election they might not now have to hear about impulsive tweets made in the wee hours of the morning from the man who would be king, when all good little politicians are supposed to be tucked safely into bed, fast asleep with dreams of political sugar plums and perks dancing in their heads.  Maybe some sober second thoughts should be given to modifying the situation there in the upcoming mid-term elections.
 
In Ontario we have choices to make too, in a little while.  First, conservatives have to make a choice between their less than inspiring candidates; then we will probably have to select which one of the three party girls (Kathleen, Andrea or ???) will run the Province.   Can we smarten up, keep our peace long enough to make a sensible choice instead of talking when we should be listening?  Old adages can apply to elections too: ‘Look before you leap’ and remember that ‘empty vessels make more noise’.

Over time, I’ve noticed that one of the changes which takes place in people (more vocally in guys) when they are coming of age and awareness is that they try to sort out what’s true and what’s not in the world.  Werewolves, vampires, trolls, Santa and the tooth fairy go.  Ghosts, ESP, astral travel, unidentified flying objects and anything else unexplained are generally all discounted wholesale into the rubbish bin without further examination as well in order to simplify their lives.  It’s the same time that most guys stop reading fiction, including literature believing it’s a waste of time to peruse anything but ‘the facts’.  And it’s the same time that young people abandon church and religion as well because they gleaned everything they needed to know from a year or two of Sunday school back when they were ten or eleven.  Besides, what ‘thinking person’ could believe all those far-fetched tales of arks and miracles and parting of seas and burning bushes and so forth?  So much stupidity in religion, they say vainly, as if one were to believe it was Gospel or something.
 
About this time, folks often take science as an alternative ‘religion’ and a catchall explanation for all situations, even when they don’t really know much about it.  It’s an easy out because it leaves one comfortably at the top of the food chain with no need to feel accountable to anyone for ones actions.  It’s fashionable too when young to be a nonconformist ‘freethinker’ feeling smugly superior in the ‘sure knowledge’ that one is able to fearlessly face the ‘fact’ that death really is the end - as proud atheists often do.  It’s a good justification for sleeping in on Sundays.  And besides, death is a long, long way away, so be that as it may.
 
Any thinking individual should realize that at least in the case of the Bible the contents were written by different men, at different times, in different places who didn’t know each other and not somehow self-published by some higher power.  This is a given.  Then, subsequently as Christianity developed and grew it became more businesslike and bureaucratic with those high in the church deciding what was content and what wasn’t.  They and other men who followed had their own best interests at heart, putting it in print to insure their security and rewards. They made the rules, which is why women generally get such a raw deal in scriptures.  And even supposing that against human nature some didn’t have their own agenda in mind when transcribing, editing and periodically excising books from the Bible, how many remaining actual truths were inadvertently lost in the many translations that these texts have undergone over the centuries? Some books from both testaments are omitted even now.  But all this still doesn’t mean that a God doesn’t exist or that life as we know it is some meaningless anomaly of random chance!
 
All religions are imperfect because they were formulated by man - who is imperfect himself of course.  Science works for most things, but, it is incomplete, a concept of man’s as well, which can by no means explain the universe fully ‘yet’ and like theology requires the ‘believer’ to have ‘faith’ that one day all its unknowns will be learned and explained.  So we see through a glass darkly either way!
 
Scoffing ‘true believers’ in the science camp should remember Newton’s first law of motion: an object will remain at rest unless acted upon by outside force.  If one is to acknowledge this cornerstone of physics as a fact, who or what caused the big bang?  I expect that these know-it-all critics get a little uncomfortable when forced to confront that question. Order cannot arise out of chaos without some direction any more than such stability can be maintained without it. Random selection, an inconsistency  found only on this particular planet thus far in an otherwise well regulated universe, seems only a practical way to ensure a diversity of life. Ergo, the theory of evolution is not at odds with a belief in a creator.  Rather, the evidence indicates that there is some method and that:

                                                                               Evolution Is In Fact Synonymous With Divine Design.
 
On television Bill Maher like other ‘nonbelievers’ occasionally enjoys broadcasting his atheism and maligning the Bible’s many fallacies and inconsistencies for the resulting shock value and that’s ok.  George Carlin felt the same way, though no doubt he has seen the light by now.  But he did have some worthwhile observations when it came to hats in religion, as shown in the link below:
 
\\https://www.google.ca/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&ved=0ahUKEwiMzIf9xrfXAhXC54MKHaTKAM0QtwIIKDAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DNNkkko4vlBs&usg=AOvVaw1t-fdhCK6waagmndnt26EA
​

I’ve been reviewing the year’s events lately in view of what those events have been. It’s easy to do these days on the balcony in such thoughtful times, when it’s calm and comfortable, as the blog archives will show.  It’s a meditative space.
 
For one thing, and just for the record, I don’t expect the guy the white house to be there a year from now and I’m not alone.  I’ve heard that all over the place lately and after having sounded out the plants on the terrace I think they agree as well: they’re right out there in some ways.  Of course some of those plants I’ve grown from the seeds of previous plants, previous years and they all tend to be consistently reliable in their tendency to agree with the guy who supplies the water, though they’ll still lean which ever way they will as the wind blows.
 
Ultimately these days who knows?  I know how to grow assorted flowers, everything (seeds) that can be found on racks in supermarkets and dollar stores, plus a few balcony perennials, hanging baskets and wild flowers (weeds).  I’ve got mint and bay plants flowering and store bought cat grass doing well too, but alas, not so much luck with the other more intoxicating variety this year.  Next year I’ll do it up proper or maybe try to get some sort of grant or social assistance that helps disabled people grow medical marijuana; it’s a liberal government after all.
 
Down south it’s a little different.  An asshole was elected because he played to and was heard by people who would have time turned back instead of steering the more forward and natural course. He struck a chord with the disenfranchised and the deluded.  A lot wish the good old days could happen again, because things seemed better then and it seems almost believable to some there now, the idea that maybe somehow they could all turn back time.  And maybe that’s natural because lots of folk want to do that, for one reason or another, but it’s also too bad because it is just self-delusion. Time goes on.  Powers shift.  Automation is here to stay in factories and business everywhere.  And as far as a return to coal mining goes, who in tune with this century would want to go back to those times or try to involve others in such activities when so many better alternatives exist?
 
On my deck, obscured by flowering plants, a fully functional barbeque sits with a fat, fully charged gas cylinder, unused, almost disguised by the foliage, though potentially explosive - as it has for years.  It might sound all very melodramatic, but the truth is that it is probably harmless, especially if left alone.  That fat gas-filled blowhard in the white house probably is too.  But it’s unlikely that he’ll last long enough to do any real harm: he can’t seem to figure out how to get any of his backward agenda passed.  If he doesn't end it for all of us by pushing the button sooner more likely than later his base supporters will recognize him for what he is and he’ll be artlessly dealt out of the whole deal one way or another.
 
Still, it’s enough to keep one distracted to such a degree that it becomes irksome for people like me and hard to keep quiet about.  Hence one blogs.
  

There is considerable talk about alternative/and/or fake news these days.  I don’t really care anymore about what the Americans consider to be the truth.  Hunting season is open down there on that and it’s going to be a little while before the gun smoke clears and enough people in the right places wake up before things get sensible again. That’s their God given right of course. And like Dickens said: “my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it or the country’s done for.”  An inapplicable comment, but it sounds good; that’s what really matters these days.
 
Still, one wonders what all that must look like from a different perspective.  We can skip the dull scientific dronings of the Carl Sagans and perhaps cut straight to the outer limits where we imagine or perhaps even envisage UFOs and other such extraterrestrial oddities, because these days all that stuff is just as believable as our apparent twilight zone ‘reality’.
 
People wonder about UFO’s and aliens, who they are, what they want, when they might introduce themselves, where they’re from, and why they’re here.  We’re a curious species.  Speculation about them has been endless since sightings started in our little corner of the cosmos after WWII* with no answer or consensus of opinion to the five questions listed above.
 
And as to those questions, maybe they’re just as curious as us, but a little more discriminating about the company they keep.  Just look at all the radio and television nonsense that we’ve been broadcasting out into space and inflicting on everyone else out there for decades now.  To an outsider we probably seem a lot like a planet full of violent, inbred, drunken and drugged up,  backwater, hooligan, yahoos without much in the way of manners, minds or morals who shoot first and never ask the right questions, even after the fact.  They see a species on the brink of self-destruction  best observed only occasionally and even then, only from a safe distance, a few rows back from the stage like the smarter live audience members at a Jerry Springer show.  The alien abductions one hears about are probably an attempt to determine just what exactly is wrong with us so as to avoid further outbreaks elsewhere, though if they’ve found the answer they’ve kept it to themselves.  About the only sensible message we’ve sent by way of an explanation for our behaviour is The Galaxy Song from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life.
 
*Possibly they were attracted by electromagnetic pulses generated by the first use of nuclear weapons and the decades of testing that followed.  Or maybe they merely wondered who was making all that noise in an otherwise quiet galaxy.
 
Some thoughts with Steven Hawking