"Judah" wrote in message
...
To think, the whole lengthy, periodically mean-spirited, often
accusational, and sometimes borderline insane thread started because Jay
was trying to wish good tidings to the victims of the terror attack in
Spain....

And now the whole world, and the whole newsgroup, has been changed for
ever...


Nothing has changed. We still are not Spaniards. We are nothing but
meaningless motes in the vast blackness of space, presumptuously believing
that anything we say or do is more than the random actions of bags of
chemicals. What difference does it make to the infinite universe whether we
kill each other or just paint ourselves blue? In the end, we are all dead
anyway.

We call mad those who have discovered a small portion of the true order of
things, and delude ourselves that we are the sane ones. Only sometimes in
the small hours of the night, when the brain's defenses have weakened and
the ancient portals have cracked just enough to let in the darkness from
beyond the Void do we begin to feel the clammy hands of Death reaching for
us. The hairs stiffen, the skin prickles, and only in the silence of the
night do we begin to really hear the terrible cacophony of voices that never
cease to scream out their despair. Drowning in fear and rage at their
powerlessness, some men strike out at the cruel galactic joke that mankind
is. Are such persons really terrorists or they simply ordinary men whose
minds have snapped, unable to handle the cognitive dissonance of our
delusions and the horrible nightmare that awaits us?

We distract ourselves with technological marvels made of nothing but dust
and air, trusting that a few moments of flight will help us forget the
nature of the cloudy hell through which we wander. We vainly imagine that
insignificant movements of 'up' or 'down' are somehow any different than the
random bumpings of molecules imprisoned by light and gravity. The ancient
clouds wait to receive us with their grasping tentacles. We are no more
intelligent or self aware than they are. To them we are but playthings, to
be led astray in mists of darkness and smashed back into the mud and slime
from whence we crawled. With the setting of the sun we begin to see the
blood red nature of these antediluvian towers of evil.

Only the gibbering souls who lie sleepless on the stone floors of asylums
might answer. The Old Ones from beyond the cold, unfeeling stars know the
truth. We are not Spaniards. We are food.