Powell’s Books Is My Mother Ship

January 11, 2013

I know that many believe we’re on the wrong planet. There is some compelling evidence. We are destroying the place forest by forest, river by river, desert by desert, mountain by mountain, glacier by glacier and we are filling our air with poisons and gases that will eventually suffocate every living thing. No other animal does this to its home. We suffer from hundreds of diseases and are more and are becoming more allergic to formerly harmless substances. The planet is sending a strong message; go away!

Perhaps we were dropped here, as some sci-fi fantasists have written, for some long forgotten and unknown penal reason. There are those who suppose that the Pyramids and some strange markings in South American deserts are unearthly signs that we come from and will return to our home planet. Our Mother ship should surely come for us one day, but there are few signs that our original civilization gives a toss for its old penal colony.

Something that I feel is a more logical indication of hope, care and maybe a sort of rescue is to be found on the corner of Burnside and 10th Avenue in Portland. Possibly an attempt to distribute the scarce intelligence that had developed on Earth since we were abandoned here so long ago, Powell’s Books does seem to attract humans with open minds and thirst for more than can be found through the other rather gruesome media our cultures have produced. A city block of books; not very big for an interplanetary vehicle, but the contents of this unlikely looking building might do a better job of saving us than any starship rescue fantasy.

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