By ice rivers
Whenever we contemplate great moments in the history of bureaucratic black holes amidst organizational, inefficient blather, we must consider the original invention of the square wheel. Inefficiency, as mundane, commonplace and belaboring as it is needs ass covering redundancy to lift it to the next level of heartbreaking, anthropomorphic hilarity.
So in pursuit of sublime futility disguised as false knowledge, we keep re-inventing the square wheel and throwing each other under it. Not only is this exercise superfluous but also it's as common as sin. In our rush to discovery, we fail to realize that the square wheel that we are perfecting has already been realized, experimented with, marketed, sold, worshipped, mythologized, set to music with exclamation points, over-rated, investigated, revealed as an imposter, condemned, destroyed, struck from memory and made extinct.
So we keep yammering away in millions of secret laboratories and offices, not sure if the exclamatory music is yesterday or scrambled eggs and too caught up in creative euphoria and inner-office competition to care. We imagine highways that will lead from one executive campfire to the next. Those highways will come in handy the next time we are so overwhelmed with thirst that we have to bring out the salt block and the baboons. We put the blocks in front of the baboons and motivate them to lick. The next time the parched baboons blunder off into the jungle in search of a water hole that we're too sober, too civilized, too well-dressed and thoughtful to find by ourselves in the parching hell hole of creative drought. We'll build a road to follow the babboons to that mud hole. We'll get to our mud hole havens on vehicles supported by the latest break through...triangular wheels.
When we get to that mudhole at last, we should expect to see the reflection of Narcissus staring back at us, with its nose wrinkled in disgusted fascination at the thought of drinking this brown "liquid" that the babbons seem to enjoy. We will once again be disappointed in our expectation because the water is too muddy to cast any reflection although it remains drinkable enough to anyone a heartbeat away from expiration date who is carrying a determinating crave. Most of us will drink hesitantly and heartily, resentful of our need and congtemptuous of our desparation/salvation as we take yet another suspicious look at the triangles that brought us here and we imagine a better way.
The babboons, meanwhile are lapping it up. Thousands of years will pass before they will gaze into a hand held, non-liquid mirror for the first time. They will be amazed at what they see. Narcissus imagining square wheels.
Soon after, invention will begin again as will miscommunication within hudreds of sparkling clean offices.
This is progress.