Why We Need to Hug Ignorance in the Face
Concerning all events ever,
and others,
always,
everywhere.
I‘m a duck and I like to tell fairy tales.
This one is about ducks.
And this is why I wrote a fairy tale.
Ducks can be stripey and checkered and dotted and blue,
and red and green and purple, and all colors and shapes and sizes,
and they can be happy and sad.
Ducks love to paddle and float in ponds all day, all duck-like.
They giggle and joke and eat snails that are too slow,
until they almost blow.
Back when all the ducks were little ducklings,
they would follow whomever they first saw.
Because that’s how ducks are.
– So they’ve been told by many ducks that told them fairy tales.
But what all the ducks have always liked the best,
is to listen to ducks that told them fairy tales.
– So they’ve been told by some friendly ducks.
Ducks like to not only listen, but to tell fairy tales too.
– So they’ve been told.
They always forget a bit of the tale, or add some bits because,
ducks just have bad memories.
– But they forgot.
Tales change more and more and then so much,
because ducks remembered only, whatever made them quack.
But it doesn’t hurt to tell a tale or half a tale or make one up.
– Or so one fairy tale goes.
Once upon a horrible time, a beautiful pond dried up.
All the ducks that lived there, got hungry and sad,
so they flew to a pond they never knew.
But most of the ducks who swam in the new pond,
were surprisingly mean to the ducks without one.
They’ve never seen ducks without a pond that had green stripes
and tiny red dots.
Some ducks in the newly found pond told tales to never trust a duck,
that had green stripes, red dots or any pattern in fact, they haven’t seen.
– One duck told them once, so they believed.
The ducks without a pond got so hungry and so sad, so they flew,
from pond to pond, but still all ducks they met were mean to them.
Sometimes because of their green stripes,
sometimes because of their red dots.
Sometimes because of none of the above.
And sometimes just because.
The ducks without a pond,
lost almost all their hope to find a pond
and never understood,
why the ducks they met,
didn’t want them paddling in their pond.
The pondless ducks saw many ponds that were so vast
and had so much space and so many slow snails,
there would’ve been enough,
for all the ducks of earth and mars and what not.
At some point a couple of ducks couldn‘t fly anymore,
in mid-air,
so they died.
Finally they found a pond, where no duck has ever told a tale of ducks,
that had green stripes or reddish dots,
nor of ducks that had patterns, different to the ones they’ve got.
– Or they forgot.
Happy to see some new patterns both kinds of ducks joined up.
They quickly became friends and paddled, ate snails
and giggled like ducks ought to do.
Some minds became so winged,
so brilliant,
they could technically enjoy
forever-perfect-harmony,
with earth,
themselves,
all animals
and everything they saw.
They saw all ducks had eyes to see,
that ducks had eyes and so they saw,
how similar they really were.
In fact they saw that ducks were ducks,
– The same, they saw.
Every duck on the pond was certain.
A whole new era had already begun.
Now deeply knowing without a doubt
in the center of their hearts.
“Anything is forever possible.”
The tales they told now turned around
ideas of ducks being ducks
and love and even thoughts
of saving slowish snails.
It was understood that the power of ducks was not
in one duck alone,
or a group of ducks,
or groups of groups of ducks.
But in all ducks as a whole.
There is space for fun for everyone.
There is so much space for everyone.
More space than anyone could even think they’d need.
Their thoughts became so positive,
they thought they ought to tell every duck they knew
and those they didn’t yet befriend,
all ducks in all the ponds should know.
They knew they had to get the timing right,
now was the time to decide,
coincidentally,
NOW was the time to tell.
Tell everyone they thought
they even made a plan to fly
to all the ponds they never knew
and let them know how ducks are ducks.
Too late, too early, really any of the two
would make a hit a flop
and make the most beautiful bubble pop.
They knew if they didn’t help each other and others,
they were purely wasting time.
– Happy ducks paddled on the pond.
A duck quacked that it heard a voice
that kindly commanded all ducks on the pond
to be kind and count
all the shells that were laying around.
No duck ever thought not to help this duck,
or trust this duck,
or question this ducks honesty.
So all ducks joined in,
once again, wing on wing,
they started counting shells until
they counted three days and nights
and recognized,
how many shells there really were.
So one duck smartly suggested
to name a duck to be the queen of ducks,
to make sure they did it right.
– So they did.
She counted shells together in the end.
She really tried to make imaginary sense
of shells.
Just to justify the work they all put in,
she quacked:
“More shells bring more ducks more happiness.”
Now the only shells that were around,
were the ones the queen was standing on.
Even though no duck had ever
noticed shells before.
Everyduck now really wanted some.
Few ducks had more shells than many
and ducks were naturally nicer
to ducks that had more shells.
So they could have shells too.
– To be happier, they thought.
They had forgotten what they wanted to do earlier,
or where to go,
and why.
They never flew to other ponds.
– Mostly happy ducks floated on the pond.
On New Year’s Eve all the ducks feasted with their newly found friends
and they had a big pond party.
They ate so many slow snails and even had some tasty soup,
which they prepared for the occasion.
Of soup and ducks:
Ducks get stirred up.
That’s why ducks like soup so much.
The queen of ducks was smart and knew,
that especially on new years,
some ducks got so souped up,
they would run into trees and even each other
and not even bother.
The queenduck of the pond, knew she was the queenduck,
because she had a crown.
She gave some ducks some hardhats,
so they wouldn’t forget to remember,
to be helperducks that can’t have soup on new years eve.
– Cause they’re forgetful, remember.
The queenduck told her helperducks,
to protect all ducks from trees and ducks
and harm and such,
even if they’ve had some soup too much.
All the ducks upon this pond,
counted solely on the queenduck,
to make sure to protect them,
from themselves and all of these..
dangerous trees.
– The ones she spoke of.
Right in the middle of the pond,
where ducks gathered to welcome the year with their new friends,
the helperducks did, as they were told.
– As the queenduck herself had told them so.
Confused and scared and sad and sick ducks, no matter if they had soup or stripes or dots or not,
would sometimes feel so small, they’d pick on little ducks so they’d feel bigger,
for a second,
than any other duck.
Or some duck told another duck a tale to make ducks pick on others.
By promising three shells or ten, high pressure, empty promises
or something else.
That’s so sad to hear or see,
there shouldn’t even be,
a duck in the world so scared or sad or so untrue,
nor should ducks pick on little ducks that paddle in the pond.
But scared or sad or not.
You just shouldn’t pick on ANY other duck.
But that’s what some ducks did.
– Only THAT wasn’t the worst of it.
ONE problem was the queen that didn’t think straight and forgot,
(because she was a duck)
to tell her helperducks,
HOW they were supposed to help a duck,
and so they didn’t.
When ducks of all shapes and patterns and sizes started picking
as expected,
on some little helpless ducks,
the only thing hardhatted helperducks did not forget to do,
was to quack.
– So the picking didn’t stop.
All that her helperducks remembered
were the tales that some ducks told them.
They’ve heard too many tales.
They forgot themselves,
how it even felt,
to think,
with their own brains,
and how to simply help another duck.
– Quack, quack.
Some ducks saw the ducks that did the picking,
others saw the helperducks not helping,
and some saw little ducks, very badly, getting picked on.
All of this,
even though,
the queenduck was supposed to have..
“Every ducks back, at all of times, until their death.”
– They quacked in unison, cause that is what she always said.
So what all these ducks that saw those things,
actually did do, while they saw them,
was to quickly quack quack quack.
Ducks: “Quack.”
What other ducks got was “Quack”.
One got “Quack”.
A “Quack” is never a “Quack”.
It can at best only almost,
but never fully be got.
A quack means lots or little, but really does not.
It depends on the ducks who quack
and those who listen.
Quacks get closer to being got,
if ducks paddle and float alongside each other,
over time
and quack a lot.
Ducks love the most to feel gotten.
–So they won’t be forgotten.
The SUN came up.
The first day of the year.
All ducks that quacked and saw the picking
(but never helped a single duck)
now told tales of blue-dotted, red-stripey,
checkered and even purple ducks,
picking on some little helpless ducks.
What they forgot to tell,
were all the tales of all the ducks that didn’t help
because they were too busy spinning tales.
“But”, they said they only followed other ducks
that did the same and told it was okay
to only watch and quack.
Weirdly, no ducks that were heard and misunderstood by others
mentioned helperducks, that also didn’t help a single duck.
And aaaaall the other ducks that only ever quacked.
Some ducks,
that didn’t even see,
were telling tales of what they saw.
Some ducks where certain
other ducks were making things up,
and most misunderstood,
but that alone wouldn’t make for a good fairy tale.
Now no one knew what to be scared of.
So they chose to just in case be scared of everyduck until…
…The loudest out of all the ducks
said that all those ducks that did the picking
had shiny red dots.
Even a helperduck thought it remembered,
ducks that had red dots.
– That helperduck had a hardhat!
On day TWO of the new year most ducks heard enough tales
to think to know,
that every duck that ever had red dots
would always pick on all the little ducks.
There was only one brave duck that helped another duck on new years.
That duck didn’t wear a hardhat nor a crown,
One duck simply never forgot that telling tales may be a lot of fun,
but after, thinking has to be done.
That duck had green stripes and red dots.
Not that it would matter.
– But still..
On day THREE of the year, sadly, one more pond, far away,
suddenly dried up.
The ducks that had no pond again,
stopped by and asked for help again.
Only now the queen answered:
“Happy new year! We don’t want you here!”
And never again the pond would welcome
any other duck, red dots or not.
Which doesn’t make sense.
Its a pond.
It doesn’t even belong to ducks.
A duck only paddles on ponds
for the very short timespan
of a duck’s lifetime.
– Or did you forget?
Then the queen and her helpers got to work
and continued supporting ignorant idiot racist ducks agendas,
that had the strongest rightest wings out of the mind fucked lot,
killed all ducks that were ever so slightly different,
especially if they had any kind of dot or not.
– Because they forgot what kind of dot to look for or misunderstood.
Until the pond was red with blood.
Meanwhile, all these ignorant follower ducks
joined in and quacked
and killed some dotted ducks.
Every duck that wasn’t murdered lived happily ever after-until
suddenly some other duck didn’t like the smart queen,
her helpers and her follower ducks so much,
maybe because they had some kind of stripe or hat,
or because they killed red dotted ducks.
Or maybe just because of the telling of a tale,
a random mind fucked unreflected follower duck made up.
And ignorantly quacked.
So all the smart kings and smart queens of all ponds
nuked the last snail out of that bloody ignorant pond,
including its smart queen, her helpers
and all the other ignorant follower ducks.
– So their pond dried up.
“I’m not trying to be mean, I just want everyone to smile.”
You can take all duck’s hardhats and crowns away,
if kings or queens and their helpers have failed you,
which they always have and always will do.
– Per definition.
You can crown ANY duck,
but ducks will be ducks.
And as long as every single duck doesn’t get,
that YOU (like any other DUCK) are 100% responsible
for all and every single other duck in this vast universe,
you’ll kill each other until all ducks despicable demise.
Until there are no ducks.
EVERYTHING, that’s going on.
AND ALL the ducks and ducklings that exist
AND ALL the ones that will live tomorrow.
AND ALL butterflies and everything.
NO MATTER pond or year.
In case you don’t have any empathy,
think of yourself slowly dying
or ducklings that you know or call your own.
That die..
THINK OF THE DUCKLINGS!
I know you can!
tic.
toc.
duck and cover,
On day ELEVEN of the year, no duck could fly
anymore anywhere anyway.
Every duck that ever lived,
had died in infinite agony,
much more than one would expect.
It would have been pointless to be a pondless duck.
There are no more ponds to fly to,
that are not filled with blood or fully dried up.
Who could’ve ever known, that one single quack,
could make all mountains melt,
by just not fully considering
a single quacking quack?
Who could’ve ever known, that one single duck,
turned out to chain-react the simple act of counting shells,
into all ponds completely going mad?
Life itself is far more fragile
than any duck ever chose to believe.
WE should’ve known
for the obvious reason,
for reasons being so bloody obvious.
Now ducks saw what ducks could do,
like killing all ducks, like ducks like to do.
AND all magnificent shapes of lives..
AND butterflies.
If one single duck’s quack can destruct a universe,
it is equally as possible
to connect,
all that is alive
with a single quiet..
“Quack.”
– Now the very last quack was finally quacked.
In retrospect,
it’s almost as if before a duck can quack at all,
it needs to think of everyone,
and everything,
and eternity,
and infinity,
or shut the quack up.
If only all the ducks that forgot to think
before they quacked remembered this made up fairy tale,
it would have meant the world for ducks,
to consider to kill themselves.
Instead of being ignorant, multi-colored, randomly-patterned fucks.
Now there are no ducks that even theoretically,
could think before they tell a fairy tale.
There are no more tales to be told of ducks that randomly hate.
The last duck thought before it died:
“All ducks are ducks are ducks are ducks.”
WE ARE ONE.
“And if there’s ever anything
not good for all the ducks that are and will be,
it’s just not good enough at all.
I only am, because we are.
Now we’re not.
I am a duck, but wish I’m not.”
Written by: 🐥
An ignorant little duck.
But THAT’S not even the worst of it!
Sadly, these ducks never were
as ignorant,
didn’t scare as easily,
had much better memories,
and are famously thousand-thousand times smarter
than humans are.
And aren’t all ducks only birds and aren’t all birds only animals
now this is confusing.
Translate frustration into action, maybe?
WE ARE ONE.
Ducks are stepping things up.
“Save the ducklings!”
#SaveTheDucklings
Be part of preventing the apocalypse.
There is an exponentially growing need to transcend human ignorance.
“Please be truthful and don’t kill”,
shouldn’t be a thing to remember.
It’s built-in.Insanity how so many ducks never got,
that ducks are simply ducks.
Here’s a challenge!
#savetheducklings
