Pluto’s Prophet

Fortunate we are that the Prince of Science was bent to plagiary and not to original meditations, lest our brethren now carry a wicked produce beyond our quarantine to the stars. Instead, pursued he a dull and truncated approximation of the Holy Science, and brought forth an inconcinnous masterpiece. Yes, we have pierced the atom, undoing therewith the Creator’s efforts, and reaped a trifle more motion than the noble coals provide, but where once smoke was there is now but captious smokescreen. This discovery the Gods deride with sober mirth, yet tolerate, content presently to substitute the inferior for the veridical. Oh blessed fortunes, barely can we transpose this ponderous mass critical upon ourselves and not yet upon the kinder civil of other worlds. Justly, never shall we find such transport whilst reducing our science to incontinent babble about fourth dimensions and vacuous bending space. How vain science grows when ears turn from God, imaginings of the Creation as rude explosion, our beginnings the chance toss of a coin. Magnify our eminence beyond all pale of pride, deny the very Gods, our makers, footing on our shores. Would that our boasting soon cede, else the lesson of Elder Brothers smart unbearable when brought. Better we remove our hand from the trigger of our own destruction, and raise it instead in respectful salutation and greeting to our anxious benefactors, post haste, lest their patience wane and our planet burn. Perhaps never was technical buffoonery more propitious and necessary or the absence of revelation more obvious and welcome. If Einstein was gulled we should be grateful that even great men are often confused to a good end, if not, and he knew of his delusion then we should admire him even more for impeding the interstellar export of our most despicable product, the curse of nuclear death.