Lately I have worked from the assumption that most of us have no compelling reason to exist. At best we are spares, almost talented potential replacements for the few truly illustrious people. Perhaps we hold spare organs for them. But as I sat and listened to local poets at the library tonight I realized some higher intelligence has a greater plan for all of us.
All our building and destroying, our mountaintop removal mining, blast craters, highway interchanges, Great Walls, suburban subdivisions and pyramids are the result of a young alien creature's entry in his school science fair.
We need all of us, consuming, demanding and destroying, to inspire the Earth-scarring disfigurements we have perpetrated on our planet's crust. They are vital to our creator's clever plan, because in the language of his species they spell out, "Eat my shorts."