You know, one of the most shameful, sissified, short-pants aspect of this whole damn thing I have to do here is having to apologize to people who diddled me every bit as bad as I did them. To wit: this week's apology, which is addressed to someone I spent far too many years With, if you will.
That's right: The World Court is far, far more cruel than even The Divorce Lawyers. They have me apologizing to someone between whom they and I, more than a little water has gone under the bridge. I apologize for how sloppy that last sentence was, but dammit, I'm flummoxed here! And apoplectic with rage! My ex-wife is suing for recognition by the highest court located on Her, and I'm just going to say it right here: To all who know her, shit of this sort comes as no surprise.
Gaia and I had what you'd call Love At First Sight, if such a thing existed, much less back then, when very little existed at all. Oh, but there were rather a lot more stars in those days, as some rotten poet once chose to put it, and so we have this Marriage of Inconvenience that we're discussing the fallout from here, today.
After the Honeymoon period was over (what geologists refer to as the Pre-Cambrian, I believe), we both set our eyes on what we each had wanted. She wanted children, I wanted Mineral Wealth. So at first, we seemed to have mutual needs and gain. Oh, if only I'd seen what was coming next.
We had The Kids; a slovenly sort who were indeed just the right type of creature for the inevitable plowing of the soil and digging deep inside My Wife for The Mineral Wealth...And little else. Their intellectual capacity was somewhere on the scale of Zero to None, and I suppose that what happened there is no great surprise.
It's hard for kids not to bond more deeply with their mother, it turns out, according to The Child Psychologists. Pretty likely that The Teat you suckle will hold a great attraction for You, and you will quickly develop a hard-wired iron connection to whoever's on the other end of said Teat.
So religion, even in its first gleamings, was ugly. The Kids had a great reverence for My Wife, and thought of Me not at all, it seemed. This made me sullen and withdrawn. Also, being the type of person that I am, it made me start scheming and plotting a Vicious Revenge.
As the amount of Offspring grew and grew, there started to occur some mass migrations, eventually leading to people being born where one might suspect no sentient life above The Polar Bear would choose to live. These people born in Hard and Miserable Places were, by definition, Tough Cookies. They were less interested in celebrating this Kind and Giving Mother, which to Tundra Dwellers seems both insane and a Cruel Joke.
This made them so damn angry, in fact, that when they heard about all these half-wits and jokers carrying on down south, in the Warmer Climes, they strapped on their antlered helmets and polished their brass. It was time for some Take-Back.
So you see, the sad story of this Match Made In Hell (where do you think we spent our Honeymoon?) is pretty much The River of Life, which is The Story of Us All. I despise poetic constructions of that sort, especially when used to describe Actual Things, but the "sensitivity training" I have been receiving from the jack-booted ghouls who run this place compel me toward suchlike pettifoggery. I must say such things because I must say such things.
I hate her, she hates me. I despoil and tear cruelly within her, leaving her hollow, and she sends tsunamis and earthquakes. I rip off the top of mountains seeking The Mineral Wealth and a place to put more roads, she gives me Ebola. It just goes on and on this way, and shall until we all die, choking on disposable diapers at last. I don't make the rules.
Well, some of the time I do. But when dealing with The Feminine Principal writ large, as Gaia is, one must be prepared to deal with emotional blackmail of a sort that should frankly be made illegal. (To be truthful, I have long striven to actually make that particular personal wish come true.) Her mood-swings were a thing of wonder and horror, but nonetheless I stood staunchly by, bringing home The Bacon, and wondering idly what Venus was doing this week. She no doubt had similar thoughts about Vulcan, or somebody.
After so long, the admirers of The Mother have made a resurgence of sorts, but it hardly matters. Such minor betrayals are part and parcel of being who and what I am. Besides, by their nature, they are marginal, and marginalize themselves: I scarcely need to care.
For I am The Father, and played a large role in the birthing of The Son. And I don't care to get into what The Holy Spirit actually is (cough Profit cough). At various points in His-story (hey...), there will be revolts against Me and my campaigns of outright brutality mixed with coercive market manipulation. But look here: people are, by their nature, Me. They don't know any other way, and think it's natural. They love a strong leader, and hate a smart one.
So, if self-appointed bureaucratic types from amongst The Dutch (what promise they showed, early on, for what disappointments they are now!) wish to put me through some sort of charade of kissing Mommy's Titty, then fine. I bow before you, O Great Ladyship, and will celebrate each hairy mole on your hideous visage. Lunch Lady of The Universe, I swear to you my undying fealty, despite how little you actually deserve it.
I'm sorry, Gaia, and as always, the check's in the mail.