Review by darth
Hi, it's darth. October brings us monsters, effigies--always has. I looked at a party napkin with Frankenstein's monster on it: his eyes were closed, he didn't need a cell phone camera to captures memories. Frankenstein's monster is already dead, look at his green, sleeping face, stitched together by a selfish parent who wants to see if it's possible to create life. When his monster eyes open and he's got the job, of confronting the intellectual who made him, of asking if the intellect is capable of love for its creature, of compassion and possibly a long-term dental plan, lower carbon emissions, and some sort of habitat arrangement . . . things get fraught. One of the Karamazov brothers got so appalled by what appeared to be a moral disconnect in the construct of divine workings, that he invoked the devil, who showed up to illustrate a fiasco of nihilism. The devil always sounds a bit like Albert Einstein, explaining what will happen to all of us if we continue to split the little atom. An atom is really just an apple on the tree of what we know--call it the tree of knowledge, if you like. You don't have to believe in a god to understand, that biting into the core of structures which hold us all together . . . can result in a situation which blows us all apart. The closed eyes of Frankenstein's monster compelled me, as I stood staring at them in the grocery store, the way an image on a party napkin can, to imagine the party this green-faced, bolted together guy was invited to. It's the party we're all in: life. Somebody chose to put him on the guest-list. Just a little lightning and the whole thing starts up. Bombs exploding. Pitchforks in the night, moral imperatives gone awry. In a laboratory right now, scientists in China are shouting over Skype to scientists in New England, of the possibility that the ancient Woolly Mammoth could be revived, vis-a-vis his reconstituted DNA. For realsies! Just because they can. When offered the technology, sometimes we choose the black helmet, the cape, and the voice-modulator and we keep on trucking--and sometimes somebody makes that choice for us. Either way, what I want in my treat bag when I knock on your door for Halloween, is to get love taken off of the Endangered List. As that guy who paints the whales on public busses likes to say: "Extinction Is Forever." Makes you wonder what the code for love is, swirling in that apple core at an atomic level. Hope it's present when the lightning strikes, for all of us here on Earth. Happy Halloween. darth
All reviews by Greg Bem unless marked otherwise.
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