Locked In, Socked In, No Way Out

Inertia is something else again. Once you have inertia going for you, that’s it. You are locked in socked in, no way out.

Take for example, US. We are not perfect, maybe, but we are, according to US, the most perfect that have ever been. Our destiny is inertia. We are a near perfect inertia, yet seeking a more perfect inertia.

But seeking more perfect, we are constrained by our inertia. We can not change course. All we can do is go faster. A force, much like gravity has US, maybe, accelerating US.

That gravity like force is ideology. Our ideology keeps US locked in, socked in, no way out. We are true believers, locked in, socked in, no way out.

Where are we headed, locked in, socked in, no way out? Collectively, nowhere, yet collectively, locked in, socked in, no way out.

Our ideology informs US that the more of US there are, the better off all of US are. So, we need more, more, more of US. Locked in, socked in, no way out.

Somewhere too, out there, is a last miserable Pygmy, yearning to be just like US. That Pygmy is only awaiting a chance to be just like US, locked in, socked in, no way out.

Soon that Pygmy shall have a chance, to embrace our ideology. Then that Pygmy shall at last join with US, locked in, socked in, no way out.

And, we shall progress along, all of US, collectively, additions and subtractions, notwithstanding, until we cry out, woefully, I am locked in, socked in, no way out.

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Look Crumby, I wrote a poem. What do ye think of my poem?

Er. I like it all righty then, Ray. But should a Sun God trainee have such an excessively gloomy perspective on the future of US?

Gloomy Crumby? I thought it was cheerful and sunny. It has a Pygmy for example.

Yeah, but look what happens to the Pygmy, Ray. The Pygmy becomes just like US. I do not want that Pygmy to be just like US. I want that Pygmy to be a Pygmy. In fact, I want to be a Pygmy, myself.

Jeez Louise, Crumby. Calm down. Ye can’t be a Pygmy. Yer locked, in socked, no way out.

Yer wrong Ray. I shall be as Pygmy-like as possible, despite everything. Then, anon, all the Pygmys and the Pygmy-like shall come together and triumph over ideology and all this inertia aggravation.

So Crumby, ye are espousing group salvation for the Pygmys and Pygmy-like as opposed to the inevitable nasty doom awaiting US collectively, minus the inevitable subtractions.

Correct Ray. Salvation requires witnesses.

All righty then Crumby. I shall add yet another verse or stanza, or footnote maybe, to my poem. Let’s see.
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But lo and behold, that last miserable Pygmy was only the penultimate last Pygmy. Deep inside the last remaining woodlot on Earth there was another, even littler Pygmy. And that even littler Pygmy gathered all the Pygmy-like to the last woodlot. And there in that last woodlot they all learned how to be better Pygmys than ever. Anon, the woodlot expanded. Anon, that woodlot expanded to cover the whole earth because everything outside the woodlot was dead. And the Pygmys expanded along with the woodlot until the whole earth became a woodlot filled with sunny and cheerful, yet clever, Pygmys.

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How’s that Crumby?

All righty then. So what else is in the woodlot besides Pygmys, Ray? Is the woodlot diverse?

Dang it Crumby. Course it’s diverse. Why wouldn’t it be diverse? Besides, all the stuff in the woodlot can evolve to become more diverse eventually, even if diversity may be a tad low to begin with

Uh oh. What if a gluttonous, lying Pygmy evolves Ray? What then?

Er. All righty then. The first rule of the new Pygmy happy, cheerful, yet clever, woodlot global habitat is, Liars and gluttons are delicious. That rule ought to take care of that.

Yepper Ray.

All righty then, Crumby.

All righty then, Ray.