Everywhere I look, I see pro-sun propaganda. No one can deny that the sun is a life-bringing supplier of essential heat and vitamins and all things good, right?
Wrong! Instead, I submit that the sun is a dealer!
Getting us hooked on vitamin D and artificial conditions inconsistent
with the majority of the universe so that we are confined to the small
sphere of existence to which it provides a constant fix.
meantime, it is sitting there, kept alive by the burning rage that it
can't get just a little closer and snuff out our meaningless, parasitic
existences. Always just a small overdose of radiation away from
succeeding in ridding itself, a magnificent body of searing plasma that
has no need of filthy constructs to thrive in the dark vacuum of space,
of our annoyance.
Yet, without us and our ball of mud and
gasses, its existence would have no meaning. The loneliness would be
intolerable. So it keeps its distance, grudgingly providing us the
building blocks of our inferior lives while we cower and marvel at the
mixed blessing it bestows upon us.
Those of us with poor melanin production are tapped into this truth. Our skin doesn't revel in the mercurial touch of abusive Sol. It cringes and shrinks, dies and peels. Sometimes it throws up meager spotty defenses, particularly on those unfortunate enough to be born with hair the color of fire, as if in defiance of our blazing master.
|credit: me via bitstrips|