The Eliminator Speaks!

Dr. Seussonoras' able assistant The Eliminator of Bullshit recently wrote this piece on his blog regarding Autumn, trees, falsities, sadness and truth. THE FUTURIST! is reprinting here on his blog due to an admiration of its writing and message. The Eliminator's words speak to THE FUTURIST!, especially at this time of the year. Please take a few moments to absorb The Eliminator's writing and feel free to comment. THE FUTURIST! tried to contact The Eliminator to okay this reprinting of his work, but he was in conference with Dr. Seussonoras regarding corporate bullshit elimination, a Chinese lunch and a sauna.


Leaves and Sadness

The saddest thing about Autumn is that once the leaves begin to fall, you can see how thin the forests really are. They're not as endless as they seem when fully foliaged. The wooded places are dwindling, but I take heart in knowing that if there are no trees, we will all die. Thus, the maximum amount of time I must spend on the Earth-without-trees is but a moment.

How do we deal with all the sadness? The trees seem not to feel pain. They readily give up their ghosts each year, they turn to flames and then to skeletons, but always, always they have the knowledge that by their very biology, they will come back to full life, lest some mean ax have its way. But we humans are not so lucky. We have no guarantees that when our world falls to our feet leaving us naked and cold that it will all work out.

So we find ways to cope, mostly destructive mechanisms to deal with the sadness in the world: alcohol, drugs, violence as a hollow outlet, isolation, hardened hearts, self-sacrificial altruism, humor, God. No wonder so many people in this world present a false being to others. If one is not genuine, one does not have to accept anything else as genuine. But, the moment, you really live and become a real person, you start to feel it. You feel it creep in on a night like this, alone, staring into a pallid computer screen, with more leaves on the ground than on the branches, for both you and the trees.

You're genuine and so is all that sadness.
How does it not rot your happiness? The knowledge that twelve year olds wish for death, or that your mother hasn't been happy in ten years?

Then again, perhaps I'm just a sentimental kid who doesn't get quite enough sleep at night. Somehow, though, I think there's more to it than that. Why? Because I've discovered a few things along the way, while carrying that burden of sadness, hefting that sack of subversive spirits across the land.

There are a few loopholes given us by design. Beauty, so delightfully common it is, and it seems only the genuine can see it. The same ones that shut out the sadness can't see the beauty. It's there every day, every ten minutes, every time you pass a window, play a song, write a word.

Beauty is a big one, the biggest, but there are more loopholes, little tricks to come away partially unscathed. Each may have his own, but let's just say that at the end of the day, I would think no less of you should you act a little less sane