Statue in the Sky

The world presents me with a crumbling artifice, time ravaged stone, any semblance of human features all but erased by the crushing weight of all the history that has gone before, of all the destiny that is to come. This sad statue is my Atlas, holding up a sky that is nothing bu a sheet draped over a couple of chairs.

Which is fine. Me, I've got no problem with anything, I'm always singing, happy and content with the person I am. But it strikes me as strange when they paint it all the bright unreal colors of this modern age, and claim it is a new god, just fresh risen from the sea or descended from the stars above. I know his name of old, King Entropy, and I do not object to his appearance, because my name is written in his book just the same as yours. Understand I'm not objecting to anything, least of all to this venerable king tricked out in day glow and christmas lights, with a well chosen modern name painted across his weathered chest in smeared lipstick. He wears everything well, and all things fall off his cliff by and by. This too shall pass.

I take it as a grave error to stand before the stuatues that have been set before us and assume that they have lost their relevance and belong to some other age. It may be a graver error to believe to readily the interpretations of scholars who dress these icons in the finery of an age their creators could never know. Perhaps this all works itself out in the end: as far as I can tell, noone knows for sure. I can only step back from the time battered dias and see that even the statue itself is an illusion, it was torn down teo thousand years ago and never replaced, as nothing in this world is never replaced. It floats above us in the sky, now, the Flying Dutchman of the idol set, seeking a port that will accept its cargo of entropy laced dreams from the minds of the Million.

klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.