Sunday, March 21, 2010
Scenes from the Riverbed,
c. David Grim (taken 8/3/09)
Here's something I came across recently:
"We are disjointed, striated, selves deteriorating after coalescing. There is no team. It's everyone for himself. And sure there's a hierarchy, but everyone takes a turn when her time comes. The first shall become last as circumstances change, the environment shifts, and that which is evolutionarily preferable along with it. People will cling to their own gods. Thinking that something like truth exists, only to trip on the ever-widening cracks in their worldview. Soon they appear to bound over these chasms with crazed looks, but eventually and inevitably, they come up short. Because no one remains eternally young and adaptable. We become marks in time. From our own limited perspectives we seem to be etched indelibly into stone, but the truth is that we inscribe ourselves on a riverbed, with millions of tons of water passing over us without pause, and we are effaced in less than an instant."