the globe-planet True Believers

I don’t argue with globe True Believers—I find them delightful, actually. Their goofy, earnest nonsense makes me want to tussle their hair and tell them I love them. Go along and play now! I love everybody. There’s a reason why I never block anyone. [except for that one guy who thought America was a real place]

Ah, True Believers.

In their game, apparently it’s no biggie that guvs have conspired to forbid us to travel either to the north or to the south, and bits of Google images are constantly being scrubbed, and all sorts of chunks of the planet are no-fly zones and no-drone zones and no-headcarry zones and no-anything zones. Not to mention military bases, the ultimate no-talkie-in-the-library zone. Not to mention so-called “wars” which are mostly just immolation pageants arranged by leaders on the same team and with the side benefit that now there are huge parts of the planet where for your own safety you’re not allowed to explore. Nothin to look at here. We don’t believe in Tartaria but we’ll just be carpet bombing all these weird castles in case conspiracists get ideas. [eye roll] We need new carpet in the living room because the elephant has been peeing.

Not to mention not mentioning. So there’s that.

Read to the end to get my favorite line, “her flagella flailing.”

Picture five minutes ago: my iPhone 11 has more processing power than Moon Unit 69 but interprets giant snowy coastal mountains clearly visible from my living room against a blue sky as white space. White, effing, space. [puts his eleven between his legs and flies to moon] [was that good for you? It was good for me.]

You Earth dwellers think you can go just anywhere? Try it sometime. Or maybe you only want to go to approved space[s] so you’ve never noticed the walls?

No talkie no lookie no walkie no no no. Planet No. Nosville.

Much of the planet, in other words, is a blackout zone, and most of the rest of the planet is walled off behind paywalls called borders and soon you won’t be able to sail across oceans in a thirty-foot sailboat and poke around on your own if you’re a boomer cuz safety yada yada, plus what is this “cash” of which you speak?

To a True Believer it’s no biggie that pictures from space are always blurrier than those from my 1950s brown-box bakelite Brownie.

True Believers adore space decrees—fiats from space organizations whose internal workings are more hidden than the far side of the moon [if any].

True Believers love space yarns. Spaceships in such yarns have big picture windows that “astronauts” float over to. Living-room windows. These nauts arrange little Norman Rockwell tableaux where they peer out with wide-eyed innocence at the precious blue dot of religious fame and remark upon its perfect camber while we remark with delight at the hair of the female naut all akimbo in the zero g. Gee! Shucks. Nifty. Gosh, isn’t that something? So she didn’t hop out on the launch zipline after all. Then with old-timey hand-held cameras the nauts snap nautshots for heartwarming Kodak moments that can be deciphered and interpreted by experts at the appropriate time.

True Believers believe in gravity unleavened by levity. Gravity is that magic force that acts instantly at trillions of miles, even faster than the speed of light, cuz experts said so.

True Believers. Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them. It’s a team effort, and there’s no u in can’t.

Except in Australia.

As a general skeptic and agnostic, I have no opinion about planet shape. Why would I have an opinion about something I’ve never seen? A bacterium on Dave has never seen Dave. To a bacterium, Dave is a rumor. Conjecture. In some Dave tales, Dave used to lick urinals during pandemics to prove that there are no viruses. In rumors of Dave, Dave is like the father planet and he balances large objects on his head. [limb planet conspiracy]

When you’re easygoing, it’s easy to go and notice the fanaticism of the True Believers. These are people for whom government decrees descend from on high. They go into a tumult of religious fervor at the idea of doing what the boss tells them. They hive up with delight at thumbnails showing influencers making exaggerated scorn-faces at the supposed malfeasance of flat Earthers, though somehow they don’t seem to interview any flatties. And certainly they would never interview any skeptics or agnostics. The True Believer youtube game is arranged as a pageant of contempt with photo-ops for preening. Look at me, I’m a big influencer and here’s a picture of me slapping my forehead and sagging my jaw at someone asking questions. Send money but not cash.

True Believers are the kind of people who get a little thrill of joy with the self-recognition of their own dutiful nature when they see a No Overnight Camping sign at Walmart. Like with a dog and you put a rag on the floor and they’re happy to know where they’re supposed to be.

True Believers are in my life for yucks. As always, I love them. Especially when they make me laugh. They’ll get no argument from me as long as they keep dancing to delight me. Dance True Believer, dance! [Dave claps hands] [sends bacterium into zero g, her flagella flailing]

Dave with flagella topside.

Willie and I search industrial zone in the precise middle of town in hopes of growing a guerilla hugelkulture garden by the railroad

.