The Rock

A deliberate rock follows its predictable routine established so many eons ago.  Its groove in the Universe well worn by now.  From all appearances, a gentle chunk of rock doing what civil rocks do in this part of the heavens.

Yet, on its surface, an over crowded and chaotic population is doing what it can to destroy the Rock.  They scorch it here, dig at it there, and pave the rest so their machines running on the remains of long dead animals can make it from here to there and back.

Blind to the damage their active lifestyles have done, they throw another rack of ribs on the barbie, park their asses in a lounge chair and sip on drinks festooned with celery or the occasional umbrella.  They may light a big fat cigar or a huge blunt.  Sinking deep into that lawn chair, they will be satisfied with their place in space.  Life can't get any better, right?

Oh sure, many of the inhabitants are aware of their parasitic behavior.  Figuring what they have, will have, or might have won't make a difference in the big scheme. Let someone else sacrifice. Besides, chosen leaders have ensured them, there is nothing to fear about melting glaciers, rising seas, and those chemicals that have enslaved them.

Consuming is good for All their chosen honchos say.  Spinning the natural into permanent trash is how its done.  Facing any future bogeymen, well, we will face them when it is too late.  Okay?

Meantime, the Rock shrugs, travels its well established path and waits patiently for these assholes to die off.
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Written while listening to Sprung Monkey.