The beginnings of a story.

It is a ruinous task we have been given.To pursue ‘progress’.

In the days of first civilization, when men battled with nature and raised twisted effigies to the sky in supplication, it was the burning desire to continue which pushed them ever forward.
But what of the ancient kings, who, out of the earth's very flesh carved monuments to rival the constructs of God himself? Mere continuation no longer, it was progress which they desired. To conquer the largest empire, to construct the greatest temple, to push the natural limits of dominion is not the yearning of a man, but of Man.
But at what point will our thirst be sated? When we finally wrest the last vestiges of control from nature and tread upon its remaining bastions? When we spread our pestilent ‘progress’ across the very stars to which we once looked ponderously towards and saw Gods? I think not.

How tragic it is, that we are commanded by an edict of our own ambition, to pursue this ‘progress’ at all cost, to pursue ruin itself. And for what? No matter the scale and scope of our dominion, with only ourselves, lowly insects, to gaze upon our own magnificence, the achievements of man will never reach the divine.