The Real Turtle Soup

It's only a paper-mache moon, they say, too cool, too full of interstellar space to sympathize or stress about lovers, kings and fools. Or is it? According to Deutsch the so-called final ignition into outer space is a product of man's meditations moving, as if via gravitation the magician to the other end of the expanding universe. Sure, in yr computer. Meanwhile, nursed in a nursing home, mewling and peeing as accurately predicted by Shakespeare my old Marine, an ex-sailor, bitter at life's ending, waited too long to dispatch with dignity. All alone, as in Corbiere's poem, old soldiers are fated to fight unnecessary wars as we all are. Except for the fact that every helium and hydrogen atom ever born or made (whatever you believe) has taken positions, passionate and predetermined as republicans and dobermans over eons and epochs. Thus I don't think it behooves us much to care if we're getting too little clean air or bacteria are better adapted than us. This obsession with identity, survival a name and a leg of lamb is lame even uninspired. The entire universe including the professional baseball season is canceled when yr dead. No blame.