henny penny money maker

henny penny money maker

One of the things that I am really interested in at the moment, is what the future might look like.

I wonder, is there a place for me and my blended relations? Will we persist, or will we vanish, banished to the histories of buried empires?

I get scared for Americans.

I like American people; the ones I meet are open, friendly and they have good energy. They are nothing like TV lives.

I get scared for them, because all empires eventually collapse. Not one single empire has ever stayed beyond stories.

I get scared for America, because sometimes I feel like it will implode, and we will continue to watch it on our screens. Really, it is already imploding.

So again, that makes me wonder?

What will history look like for people whose stories tell them that all empires fail, and that time is just a snapshot of memories; orated images of people, their deeds and the places they visited. When the empire collapses to the extent that we can no longer deny it, will we persist, or will we vanish, banished to our own stories.

Global climate change is happening. It’s the middle of summer here in Aotearoa New Zealand, and there is no snow in Anchorage, the bears can’t sleep and so they will starve, waiting for the salmon. It’s the middle of summer in the southern hemisphere, and the cherry blossoms are starting to bloom in Washington.

What will happen when we can all finally acknowledge that the empire is falling, the sky is falling and there are too many people to feed? Will the child soldiers feed us, or will they eat themselves and their military masters; maybe they will be too traumatised to care about the fallen sky, the rubble and the dusty acres of desert, frozen over with the snowy blizzards of nuclear winters in summer?

Chicken Little and Henny Penny have no answers, they have been cloned, irradiated and genetically modified. They’re only interested in hormone therapy these days.

They’re too busy fucking each other. Plus, they’re too A-list to care about reality anyway.

I wonder who will tell stories when the media is dead, squashed by the fallen?

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