Thursday, April 7
If ever there was a time for the sick poets, it is now.
Too many people inhabit Earth. We need to reduce the population. To tears? To zero? To a 1970's level? Should we offshore the homeless to the moon Europa? Or a giant space station in orbit? Or perhaps relocate the wealthy to Mars...?
The answer to all of these questions is no. Or, well, maybe. The rich to Mars, anyway. No, it's no. The answer is no. We need a comprehensive disease, one to affect all people. One to unite them in the close quarters of overpopulation. We need to inflict everyone with the sickness of poetry. Poetry will render every person with the domain of infinite space and time.
Each man, woman, and child a king of infinite space, you ask? Yes, in close quarters. In the beautiful openness of the poetic word and phrase. Yes, in Hamlet's metaphoric nutshell, humans may survive the future.