Hair a Stax. Their a Stax. Everywhere a Stax Stax.- Pyoter Bierbuston Symes - 21st Century Children's Rhyme
Wild hair syndrome was the first clue of trouble on the way. Restless leg syndrome was a blip on the statistician's bell curve compared to this. Generational disagreements on hair arrangements where one consistent pattern throughout human history. But this wild hair was alien. Sentient. Consumed with consumerism even more than us. Prolific in it's reproduction. Much more so than we, who had evolved into a world of pleasure sublimating our desires while avoiding the millennium of resultant offspring. So the alien hair truly went wild. Eliminating all that stood in it’s way from its consumption and reproduction. Where this alien hairy entity literally flopped down was in it’s inability to stack things on top of other things. An area we humans perfected beyond any alien follicles dreams.
Some of our brain trust surmised this was due to the invaders intergalactic travels which deprived it of the clear understanding that we instinctively knew as up and or down. But with those assumptions that lobe of our brain trust merely demonstrated their lack of a clear understanding of the stacking process we use. Up down sideways and building on idea after idea were the inherent telos of stacking.
How the alien hair was able to abscond with centuries of stax, the mechanics of the pilfering, and the hairs real designs have been lost to antiquity as of now. I alone, who was Shanghaied onto an alien ship and became the recipient of the inherent space time continuum slope displacement can conjecture that the plundering of earth's stax began with a dubious undemocratic yet technically legal election of the Wild Hair Syndrome personified to one of the most powerful thrones on the 21st Century globe. Hindsight allows me to correctly identify it as a throne because what I now know, which few knew then, was the empire was being sacked from within and the hair had already won.
They took our structures and dismantled and loaded them on their vast space barges. Complex machines of any kind were confiscated.They uploaded every bit of data on the planet that had been neatly stacked as ones and zeroes on stacked silicon chips, then seized the stacked chips which they admired so. The Hair thought us quite clever apes for that one. Big haired Balkanized models were most coveted by The Hair, even though it was a vagary of language that led them to covet our Eastern European women whom were recklessly referred to as stacked. So the women were stacked on The Hairs space treasure barges as well. My attempt to cling on to my dear Lorilita, quite the Eastern Promises prize herself resulted in my surreptitious Shanghaiing. She was worth it and my resultant survival to tell this tale is in great part a result of my cellular drive to do the reproduction tango with her most exquisite foreign frame.
When I returned I found a land where most of the remaining humans lived humbly, happily, creatively, and baldly in a clean, beautiful, peaceful existence where basic needs were provided for through the modest labors of each other. Bosco’s, as they were called by the remaining wild hair overlords who had almost entirely brushed themselves to the extinction tipping point through their worship of competition, exploitation, and prideful violence as they spent their time trying to usurp each other’s Stax. The thing was the Stax were few and far between as the Staxmeisters of the earlier days refused to forgive the debt of the now leveraged stacked stuff that had disappeared up the gravity well with our Wild Haired invaders.
But centuries of custom and conditioning set us against each other trying to collect from each other on things that were no longer ours. What once was considered our best Angels became our clear and present devils. Our still unbridled drive to consume more than the next human, reproduce more than the next human, eliminating anything that interfered with those cellular commands just so we could stack more things on top of other things than the being next to us was still paramount in out globally bifurcated brains. Our alien Hair conquers, being more advanced and beyond mere corporeal stacking, should have known better. But our elected hair monster was the personification of all our worst angels and only propounded the misguided myth that only he could create great stacks; forgetting that you have to be able to sell that stack of hooey to somebody for it to have any kind of inherent value. Since nobody had nothing anymore but their wits and their souls; the once agreed upon legal tender was not worth the paper it was no longer printed on. It was all just data on the stacked silicon chips that had gone up the gravity well in a puff of anti gravity bravado.
Where have all the vowels gone?
Whr hv ll th vwls gn.
The servers were overloaded. Too much text. Not enough storage. What seemed like a good idea at the time came back and bit us again. First great idea was dropping the first two digits of the year. We freaked out when the century rolled over on us.
Then storage was cheap. Soon in the 21st Century so much datum was being stored the earth was covered in servers. The heat changed the climate. The climate changed us. We changed the language. That changed the way we think.
Nw hr w r.
All the way to the loss of the analog I.
W dnt nd n stnkn vwls.
Language became so short hand that all vowels became extinct. Every so often a heretic would strive to reintroduce the I. But soon they would be heaved off the network of life.
All that aside I still had to invoice Cyrus Plush before he flew the coop. I'll deal with the missing vowels, and Fang Fang Wu later.
Some of our brain trust surmised this was due to the invaders intergalactic travels which deprived it of the clear understanding that we instinctively knew as up and or down. But with those assumptions that lobe of our brain trust merely demonstrated their lack of a clear understanding of the stacking process we use. Up down sideways and building on idea after idea were the inherent telos of stacking.
How the alien hair was able to abscond with centuries of stax, the mechanics of the pilfering, and the hairs real designs have been lost to antiquity as of now. I alone, who was Shanghaied onto an alien ship and became the recipient of the inherent space time continuum slope displacement can conjecture that the plundering of earth's stax began with a dubious undemocratic yet technically legal election of the Wild Hair Syndrome personified to one of the most powerful thrones on the 21st Century globe. Hindsight allows me to correctly identify it as a throne because what I now know, which few knew then, was the empire was being sacked from within and the hair had already won.
They took our structures and dismantled and loaded them on their vast space barges. Complex machines of any kind were confiscated.They uploaded every bit of data on the planet that had been neatly stacked as ones and zeroes on stacked silicon chips, then seized the stacked chips which they admired so. The Hair thought us quite clever apes for that one. Big haired Balkanized models were most coveted by The Hair, even though it was a vagary of language that led them to covet our Eastern European women whom were recklessly referred to as stacked. So the women were stacked on The Hairs space treasure barges as well. My attempt to cling on to my dear Lorilita, quite the Eastern Promises prize herself resulted in my surreptitious Shanghaiing. She was worth it and my resultant survival to tell this tale is in great part a result of my cellular drive to do the reproduction tango with her most exquisite foreign frame.
When I returned I found a land where most of the remaining humans lived humbly, happily, creatively, and baldly in a clean, beautiful, peaceful existence where basic needs were provided for through the modest labors of each other. Bosco’s, as they were called by the remaining wild hair overlords who had almost entirely brushed themselves to the extinction tipping point through their worship of competition, exploitation, and prideful violence as they spent their time trying to usurp each other’s Stax. The thing was the Stax were few and far between as the Staxmeisters of the earlier days refused to forgive the debt of the now leveraged stacked stuff that had disappeared up the gravity well with our Wild Haired invaders.
But centuries of custom and conditioning set us against each other trying to collect from each other on things that were no longer ours. What once was considered our best Angels became our clear and present devils. Our still unbridled drive to consume more than the next human, reproduce more than the next human, eliminating anything that interfered with those cellular commands just so we could stack more things on top of other things than the being next to us was still paramount in out globally bifurcated brains. Our alien Hair conquers, being more advanced and beyond mere corporeal stacking, should have known better. But our elected hair monster was the personification of all our worst angels and only propounded the misguided myth that only he could create great stacks; forgetting that you have to be able to sell that stack of hooey to somebody for it to have any kind of inherent value. Since nobody had nothing anymore but their wits and their souls; the once agreed upon legal tender was not worth the paper it was no longer printed on. It was all just data on the stacked silicon chips that had gone up the gravity well in a puff of anti gravity bravado.
Where have all the vowels gone?
Whr hv ll th vwls gn.
The servers were overloaded. Too much text. Not enough storage. What seemed like a good idea at the time came back and bit us again. First great idea was dropping the first two digits of the year. We freaked out when the century rolled over on us.
Then storage was cheap. Soon in the 21st Century so much datum was being stored the earth was covered in servers. The heat changed the climate. The climate changed us. We changed the language. That changed the way we think.
Nw hr w r.
All the way to the loss of the analog I.
W dnt nd n stnkn vwls.
Language became so short hand that all vowels became extinct. Every so often a heretic would strive to reintroduce the I. But soon they would be heaved off the network of life.
All that aside I still had to invoice Cyrus Plush before he flew the coop. I'll deal with the missing vowels, and Fang Fang Wu later.
