This is written in one shot. Stream of conscious, boom, random, kind of, but something I wrote nonetheless. Not the best, but … ok.
In scholastic bowl, for completely random in-the-dark guesses, for whatever reason, we have a tradition of guessing “Smith,” which is pretty much never right, but it is a constancy we sit back on. It feels good: Smith. It does, but never right. Smith, and if you have watched The Matrix, you would recognize him as the one who compared humanity to a virus. A virus with a host of mother nature we are, and always feeding and begetting, replicating, reproducing, duplicating. One. Two. Four. Eight. Semelparity, exponentially, big bang, and consume we do. Like the fire in Stravinsky’s Firebird, from a small flame to one that is whirlwind cymbal dramatic, trombone blasting, piccolos screaming into the timber sparks and bombast dust. Mankind. Smith. Evolution. Only needing enough to replicate. and so we replicate, limited by not us but the medium in which we live in. Limited not by us. No, we are limited by our egocentricity, or perhaps, the heliocentricity, virus unable to spread outwards of the sun. Be we do anyways go above the heavens in some sort of self-proclaimed apotheosis, whether it is by our egos or whatever, we answer, perhaps with something completely random like a firebird. this is why as mere mortals of the Scholastic bowl team, we answer and we are wrong with “Smith,” and we’re ok with it. Because, we’re just human.