The world is so big and overwhelming that it only makes sense to scale it down. This is why we have boxing. Large scale fist fights in the streets of cities all across the world would be too unwieldy. A logistical nightmare.
There was some grand point I was trying to or going to try to or have tried to make. Yet nothing comes to mind. Scales. Think of the newest images from that telescope NASA has been working so hard on. Each speck of light representing the possibility of millions of millions of other life forms. Kinds of intelligence so foreign to our senses. So queer to our minds. So odd in their construction that them being so far away they would all likely be dead almost makes you feel superior. Does it not?
Makes me feel superior. Some gaseous super intelligence 40 million life times away does not have shit on this rock. This slab of mountains and trees and water all held together by a force so opaque it may as well be magic. And that is it is it not? The story around here is not tragic. It is magic.
The nine armed and four tongued and entirely aquatic life forms billions of billions of billions of miles from here should weep. They should moan. They should fall to whatever passes for knees in those parts and cry foul. We are lucky enough to live in this world. You have the power to walk out your front door tomorrow and vanish. Does that not make you feel alive?
We grew so bored in our intelligence that we fought wars across decades and continents and when the wars grew boring we invented new kinds of war. We bathed our children in violence and blood and colonization and presently tens of thousands of my countrymen are huddled around an old man in a funny hat who is said to commune directly with God. Where else in our universe might you find this? The odds are... The numbers say... But it is effectively infinite...
When my newborn daughter cries her eyes go the colour of a beach stone. She has my face and I can see her little mind working behind the squishy flesh. I challenge you to show me one thing beyond this planet that is worth seeing after you have seen that.
My son learned to ride a bike with me by his side. He thought me cruel when I would let go and refuse to hold him up. I taught him to rub some dirt on his knee if he scrapes it. He does that faithfully now and he does not cry. He looks to me for permission and then he laughs and rides on.
My daughter — a middle child — barks orders at me and I follow her instructions. My son can be taught, but my daughter has no use for what I know. She learned to swim and to sing the alphabet and to dance and to run and to climb the rail of the stairs and how to break my heart with her eyes.
Woe to the vanquished. The galaxies and clusters and planets and stars far beyond us should cower. They should hide. The truth is we are masters of scale. We have taken the universe and boiled it down to the bones. Made stock of it. Feel no arrogance when you look up and think eh, maybe this is it. Because maybe it is not. But it should be.
Explore. Sure. Go forth and find that there is nothing for you beyond our sky. There are lands in your own towns and cities and states and provinces that no man has touched in a century. Our world is burning and melting and flooding and we turn our eyes to a philandering billionaire to get us to Mars. Fucking Mars. Mars has nothing I want. Mars has cold rocks and traces of ice and microbes and whatever the fuck else that glorified drone found.
I am getting off track. Remember the scale of the problem is never so big. Unless you're trying to move from 160 to 175 to fight Bivol, then maybe the scale matters. See you all in September when I will have time to care about the fights again.
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