King vs Trump: The Court's Legacy Decision

    Once the dust has settled on our country and it is long gone, the ideology that marked its legacy will weigh heaviest on a scale of justice.  The two strongest ideologies in our country are racially based, whether we recognize it or not.  We fought the Civil War over racial justice, the result echoing through to today.  There has never been an extended military conflict on our soil that didn't involve race.  It runs through our blood, like the pathogen of a incurable disease.

    Martin Luther King Jr. would have been a prophet in Biblical times.  He stood up for the oppressed, gave up his life for the opportunity to change society, and preached for equality like none before him.  He was crucified by tyrants of oppression, like the religious zealots of antiquity.  He charged his sermons with so much racial activism that it disrupted the established order.  Being imprisoned 29 times didn't phase him.  Many times he willingly turned himself in, to make the power of civil disobience stronger.  The effect made his followers all the more adamant that they were right, that the law didn't apply to them, that nothing could stop them, for they were sanctioned by God.

    Fast forward to today and we have a similar public figure who is fanatically lauded for his determination and charisma, but for the opposite ideology.  Trump's positions on race and immigration are the reverse of King's principles of inclusion.  Misinformation and ignorance are given a pass for the sake of staying consolidated.  A poorly handled pandemic and attempted insurrection didn't change people's minds.  Anything he says and does is applauded by mobs of people, as if he were the same caliber preacher King was, albeit a corrupt one.  Perhaps the most amazing parallel is that his recent legal proceedings are perceived in the same manner King's was: unfair prosecution that is politically motivated in an attempt to silence an enlightened and dangerous person, someone who threatens the perceived order of establishment.

    King was given a holiday and canonized by the Holy Orthodox Church.  If Trump is victorious in changing society, imagine the accolades he will receive.  He may be far removed from sainthood, but Evangelicals are the most vociferous of his advocates.  Trump is a hero in the eyes of many religious fanatics, having populated the Supreme Court with justices that overturned Roe v Wade.  And what would the court say after America turns to ash, when the ideologies of King v Trump clash for the final determination of our legacy by historians?  The 5-4 vote will have to favor someone.  

    Progress is sometimes a bumpy road.  It will depend on whether the next bump lasts longer than America's death.

Majolica

    It was the finest city in the world. People came for miles to witness its beauty. The buildings were glazed mandalas of innumerable color, shapened by architects and artisans that sang hallelujah to the heavens. Kama sutra poses were sculpted in relief on tanned temples between ceramic towers. Majolica the blessed, Majolica the naked, landlocked jewel in the Vanilla Mountains. The people were free, inequality was low, education was permanent, war abolished. It was ruled by women.
    Until one day the men came, and it was destroyed. Glass shattered in malachite shards, beauty parlors obliviated by violence. They pillaged, they raped, they overthrew the matriarchs. Majolica the flayed, Majolica the defiled, sunken ship of broken treasures in a sea of sorrow. All that survived were words, a single book unearthed from the rubble. It spoke of a utopia that nobody believed could exist, that gradually spread to the corners of the world fringed by the old order. It was the story of her existence, that lost city which honored truth, and therefore beauty. Her tendrils crawled out of the crypt of history, wrapped around every modern city, choked the engineered throat, rose from the dead. Emancipated by words, they were her victory march. 
    You can't kill an idea. You can't learn more from victory than defeat.

Small Black Holes Causing Dark Matter

    What we know of as dark matter could merely be a sea of miniature black holes that surround the galaxys in their halos. The rotational velocity could be so slow that they don't contract and sink into each other, creating bigger ones. And if they did, satellite galaxys that are smaller than their parent may develop, which could be the process in our Milky Way.
    Black holes can be small enough for this to happen. If you shrink the mass of the sun into the size of a mountain, a black hole would be there, and a fairly weak at that. If you did the same with the Earth, it would be the size of an inch, and proportionally weaker. Add up all the potential matter and black holes surrounding the galaxy, and you have a good recipe for dark matter.
    I haven't the faintest idea how this mechanism would have started. An analogy with starbirth may be appropriate. It seems that in the early universe, countless black holes could have developed as matter began pooling. Only the ones that developed in the center of galaxiess would have grown to supermassive sizes.
    This is similar to the way a planet forms; all the pieces that combine to form it come together at different stages, like black holes combining at the center of a galaxy. Outside our solar system, there are billions of lost planetary fragments that never combine due to their distance from the center. The same thing could have happened far from the center of our galaxy, where a halo if black holes may be orbiting it.

Star Factory

  Ovulation of cosmogenesis the clock balloon manufactures, inflating wisps of ionic-amniotic fluid, magnetized aflame, burning to forge creation, the proteins swarming as toolbits, constructing a ladder to the rainbow. Fetal smiles that shine over the gaseous garden like angels in bondage, dancing in time lapse as the embryos take shape, goldenrod fingers probing the distance, softly gathering momentum for a birthday in heaven. Swirling they tune in spherical distortion the angular collapse of energy, planting bones in the disks, seeds of cadency aloft taking root, where harmony becomes inaudible. They fuse, they explode, they see the light, bursting through the continuum on wings of pain, the core erupting, the mother screaming, the elements convalescing, assembling order from disaster. She holds them, her planets in blankets, caressing them to orbit in a gravity of love, forever caring, forever smiling, the nebula parting for their home, a place in a basket, a warm place.