NOSE-TRADAMUS
Whatever I say moves us further from the experience. So of course there’s little to be gained by speaking. And perhaps I have nothing to say after all. Or very little. What education can never accept is all we have left of our theories. Like working on a land barge near the total sum of all consciousness. A series of discussions that bring old futures back to light, what we once discarded on our way to the lake. Just because we think it means something doesn’t mean anything. What diseased lumbering beast is this.
YOU DIDN’T KNOW?
This was my talent for soft facts on display. A rare earth combination of mud and electricity. That’s us. “Me and thee.” It’s not hard to explain the poisons, the doubt, the tidal grasping for young flash. There’s no news like bad news to cheer up the phone watchers we’ve become. Not blank. Far worse. Riddled with opinions, narrative. Caressed and blinded by judgements. It’s not our fault. Not exactly. We’re built to cultify each other on our way to the sea cliff we came to destroy. To see things as we create them and mistake it for something real. Careless optimism at a breakfast counter.
NO THEORY TOO LIGHT
There are limits to understanding. And even this is difficult for us to grasp. Answers aren’t everything, I suppose. What does it matter that fluids flood through me, delivering saltwater to every cell? What carries us to the end masquerades in times of peace as dark stations between us. Rainfall over the ocean and no new lights to see you by.
FEAR OF LIFE
Garden tomatoes inspire dread. And that's the best I can do. Mondays season the week. What I collect along the way can never bring me home again. And anyway all of life is a period piece. Where structure remakes the container we set ourselves in. At the table we bargain for table. What's missed alleviates what little charm our double lives are worth. Financial panic in the aquarium. But never forget the bankers are more scared of you than you are of them.