When I complained to my wife that a co-worker threw me under a bus, she asked me to take a moment and consider the mental anguish and trauma experienced by the poor bus drivers.

The Mice Barons,
Fearing the Elephant King,
Squeak praise
Before his trumpet

Then scurry from the palace
To the elephants’ circus
And steal all the cheese
While terrorizing all the Dumbos.

Birds of a feather don’t just flock to fuck.
They flock to friend.
And to fly.

Ugly times are beautiful teachers.

Nature pursues perfection.

Take the sunflower.

The angle between the flower’s seeds happens to be Φ, the golden ratio. Which is (1+√5)/2. Which is (1+1/(1+1/(1+1/(1+1/…), which is the most perfect irrationally number there is — the hardest to approximate with any rational number.

Each sunflower independently derives this relation and spreads the seeds in its face, striving to align with this universal perfection.

Now imagine a nature where all sunflowers succeeded – each identical to the next. Fields and fields of sunny perfection gazing back at you. No aberrations – no flaws.

Cold. Sterile.

But rejoice! Each seed fails, it’s own unique way, to achieve this ideal. A micron here, a millimeter there. Chaos tugs against the warriors reaching for their goal, moves them off their target, and in the battle another picture emerges.

One of warmth, of music, of contentedness, and of life.

Or in other words, natural beauty comes from the maniacal desire to attain perfection; but not quite getting there.

All that matters is each day I try to lay my seed perfectly, accept the inevitable failure, and try, try again.