Lost the Alamos

“These are complex technical things, but they touch on the very basis of our morality. It is a grave danger for us that these decisions are taken on the basis of facts held secret.”

This was said on February 12^th in 1950 by a man addressing the President of America's wife, Eleanor on her Sunday morning television broadcast. 

This man with all the answers, knew best how to keep secrets. Top secret and under hat and he let those secrets bounce around in his radioactive being until the corrosion became more than the structure. Settling within him and festering around like a cloud, it seems he could come and go with omniscience. He was brilliant to all could not look at him directly in the eyes. Those that could take it knew he could have been brighter, more welcoming in the desolation of night, they were embedded in that sky under the same forces. So scared, some thought his yellow fingered trembling was evidence of this, that he need always clutch his own personal fire; via a wand or crutch, incessantly forcing his fingertip to take the flames off the cherries, he knew he was trying to make it numb. It was only a start, he never thought about the end before he lost where he was going and went instead with the wind and waves, swallowed and sunk safely away from the American Dream. off the Virgin Islands, he is perpetually pulled and pushed by waves of saints and martyrs. The legacy is nearly forgotten. Finally, there was none left awake to do the tactile work, like making bombs that would forever change the world. He holds his breath I fathom. 

Photo credit By Federal government of the United States [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Trinity sight post test (Jumbo, July 1945).

Gatherer

While you are here, make yourself useful. Instead of leaving no footprints or blazing trails, in place of rooms stacked with forgotten props for making memories and treasuring trivialities of these in trinkets and symbols of some emotion we once had while collecting bones and relics for hanging in closets just in case of a storm. Rather, you could pick up what I have lain down before, it was already here and waiting like this red carpet for barren feet in which you may tip toe so softly so that none notice the shift in shag or bulging pile, the insistence of your presence, the red of your wait makes the earth feel like home for a time.
With you staying longer and nearer, it has made a lasting impression to run fingers over and collect the tips of things to make sense of the things we may feel, like more than necessary for one. 

By Kuroda Seiki (1866-1924) (http://bunka.nii.ac.jp/heritages/detail/252689) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Fools Rules

Things have changed. 

As usual, kids these days, they say, incapable of paying attention to only one thing at one time.

They cannot afford to be bored, the kids will claim this while earning lack of interest and learning to invest in installments by bits or bytes of feed and data to collate and parse or peruse ever to gently over the surface, present without touching a thing but reaching further than conception can fly by rail, by plane or Falcon 9. 

And the whole time they were growing taller and able to see over the heads of past generations,

often not understanding the foreign language they use to say how big and strange the kids have become. 

The untranslatable said to be familial if not familiar cuts the tongue and distance is breathing

room. 

Some rules apply to all tight circles.

These are not rules.

Conflict creates sparks. To kindle this is Choice. Paper or plastic. Cash or credit. Fruit or Vegetable.

Man ate the apple.

We should all agree, unanimously, to treat each other with Great and Grand curiosity, instead of the horror and heart racing fear of the past passed at the speed of light, a code they will crack well after we can look back and say progress is not a lifeline or any linear conception that stretches generations.

Of course, the kids thought the adults were obedient and simple.

Always being right of something that has no sides or edges but event horizons, similar to virtual reality or alternate avatars of us which shows that only perception is infinite and limited unless you can learn to balance both ‘i’’s and juggle while focusing on more than five to seven things which may mean the multiverse is possible, or probable in a world where rings carry truth into black holes.

Poor us that shrunk while the everything expanded, who could no longer reach the ends and make connections in the dark by feeling our way around things and knowing what they may be one at a time, intimately aware of all the potential items and uses, like a life and what one should use it for.

And yet the youth always thrives because they are soft enough to adapt and keen to collect the sharpest tools that came before them and eager to learn how it was done with bright eyes that see better ways.

And yet the adults still call them fools.

Women covered up.

There are no definitions of circles that end. 

There is always room for growth. This much won't change. 

There are no rules for making lifelines with what was found.

The minerals line and build up with the bodies both old and new. 

It was only different from this view

Photo of The Atwater family, from archives by unknown, in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.