The Abolition of Nature - Rise of the Innovators

Part 1: Rise of the Innovators

Part 1 — the rise of the Innovators*


Upon a time

There was a place

(Deep in a gravity well)

Where the tick tocking of time

Had ran on ever and a day

At the same pace


Nothing much happened

In that Arcadian land

If by nothing

You will discount

The circadian rhythm

Of love, life and death

And the unspeakable wisdom

Shared by all living things

Sorrow and suffering

Were no strangers here either

The world turned as it ever had

With little perceptible change


Until there came a time when a generation of innovators arose

Their leader Moskin foretold of a new dawn for Man

Their goals were as lofty as they were broad:

To dissect the nature of light

Tirelessly unweaving rainbows and

Scoring the music of the spheres

Building ziggurats of knowledge

To outreach the nearer heavens

They freed themselves from bondage

To their historic chthonic fears


Moskin proved one could

Slow the passage of time

By accelerated activity

And so the pace of daily life

Increased to a frenzied pace

Each person began to dream

The dream of endless life

This world’s animals, plants and trees

Were excluded from the new hope

Of immortality

They stupidly persisted

Living and dying

In the same old quick ways


A kind of conservation

Could clearly be seen

Each new technology

And extra day of life gained for mortal Man

Was paid for in an increase in the speed of

Slavery and death of the other species of living things

The contract — if one can call it that —

Seemed well struck for our bright new Men


After a time the people

Had almost forgotten

The genesis stories of old

Of immortal beings that once gave birth

To fast dying life and terribly mortal Man

Despite and amidst this brave new dawn

The outcast Maker tribe still sang

Of the magic that precedes

Measurement and words


Led by the holy Akptah

They sang old songs of Man’s sympathy

With all forms that carry the fire

Reminding Man in the age of innovation

Of a brotherhood and bond

Writ in the oldest language

From when first the clay grew tall

Even before the spoken word

Hymning of wordless wisdom



When we slow time

With speed

And fuel our fires

With the burnt offerings

Of our brethren

What we gain

Must be conserved

By what is lost

Countless are

The steps of the Tao

To the eternal.

Your unholy grasp of time

Will end in tears

A day in the light of wisdom

Is as a thousand years


The poets were ridiculed (or humoured)

By these perennial neo-people:

Strange artefacts

Myopic mystics

Fast-dying remnants

From slow time

When Man

Knew so much less


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