How much more coconut headed can we get? The fish in the sea are creating underwater war museums as we meddle with their environment, and by which they will categorize themselves into curators of course.
There will be the underwater gun collectors, and the oceanic archivists. The most excited guys will be the trigger fishes, and we hope they do not let go of that trigger when we are snorkeling by, posing as tourists or fishermen. But wait; there is a positive notion to ease the coconut ego. We have increased tourism for criminal diving, for where the guns fell, there they will be found, no?
But thank you social media for being overly sociable as always. So sociable that maybe we will be found not only displaced by the sea sooner than later but worse, defenseless - if the trigger fish find those guns before any sane people do!
I guess the wars we do not see are breaking the horizon already? I wonder how the magma of the dead volcanoes in Savaii would have felt if a sailing war ship from ancient times, collected these guns, forged through winds with a warrior filled canoe, conquered another, then concluded with a milestone of throwing the guns into the magma’s mouth.
I think the mouth of the magma would be stupefied, if not laughing out loud, as in social media it is spelt as you speak it with, L O L.
But maybe we do not have enough to worry about. So why throw a towel when we are all heroes of some sort anyway? We can be like the Mr. Incredibles part three, baby sitting the wild children on the streets. I too wish those young children had superpowers so they can blast the life out of some basket of papayas. Wouldn’t that creativity, alone, wake some people up, and to begin with, their own guardians?
So one minute you’re a noted kind lady, and as you are looking for coins in your bag to give them, and posting your kindness on face-book, only to be thrown sideways with a slab of papaya milk to take home.
A thought for off point entrepreneurs, as there are plenty coming up too. Have you seen the guy who sells you nothing but his empty hand as he is stumbling around drunk in the middle of the day? His nick name in English is Octopus. The Fe’e.
Who says our sense of humor should make sense anyway?
But here again is a rainy Saturday. While I have forgiven the heated sun last week, I am feeling cold by the minute writing this. The human being is cursed with conflicted thoughts. One day when we are no longer thinking, we are spirits, and we are free.
But I am here just as you are reading, struggling. The thing to end this rag with is not the meaninglessness endearing tax laws flagging over the heads of philosophers and ordinary people. “What to do isn’t it,” said a mindless bloke once.
But I want to end with a note of the lack of attention on the tourism services in all levels of services available for anyone.
There is so much training required, any entrepreneur could make money of it. But that seems to me, is more important than the arguing over who pays taxes and who does not.
Because is it not clear enough, minus the coconut ego, imploring true facts, and obedience to laws, that the poverty stricken are at large and the need to create is more so important than the idea of ideologies?
So while I love to quote Shakespeare when I am being seriously outdated, I also like to ask ordinary questions to make a small point from a cold place in my heart. Of the lack of common sense, from the looks of things surrounding us all, and the weakened fiber of a once profound and humane society, I want to rewrite Shakespeare to say,
“Coconuts or not? That is the question.”
God speed, and warm you in this whisky paradise rain!