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8/365 - Penis Haiku
10 January 2012 01:11My penis is spam
Inbox vagina-clogging
forgettable meat
tags
Inbox vagina-clogging
forgettable meat
tags
10 January 2012
9/365 - Ode to Time
10 January 2012 01:37Ode to Time
Oh sideswipe of time, you raucous flow chart, actuarial tabling us from milk and cookies to cancer-ridden hardware we can’t replace. You dancing dog. Your enemies number the ones that waste you. I have known people that have loved fully and achieved mighty goals welcome death with resigned grace. It's the ones that haven’t done what they wanted and can’t see the beauty in their failure that hate clocks as much as witches hate bodies of water and piles of sticks.
Time, you have sandpapered off my corners but I am not yet a wheel. The ride is still rough. The pull of you as I roll downhill feels like gravity. You go by quicker because of your familiarity. Only adventure slows you down. Only effort makes you invisible. Only fun makes you fly.
Records broken create timestamp beasts, children of yours that embarrass themselves until they are broken again. You cannot be divided. We have not yet found your smallest number. You are as unknowably vast to us as space. The fact that we have the audacity to measure you is hubris.
According to us, the Earth is out by a whole day every four years. According to US, the EARTH is OUT by a whole day every four years. What unbelievable arrogance. Foxes don’t know that they are called foxes, lions don’t know that they are called lions, and time does not know that it is comprised of hours and minutes and seconds.
There are no stopwatches in space. The right amount of time to make a sun ignite is merely the right amount. The number of revolutions needed to create a planet is merely the number of revolutions needed. If it cannot be a planet, it will be an asteroid belt. If it cannot be an asteroid belt, it will be rings around a gas giant. Nothing is measured. It merely exists. And time is what enables it to happen.
If there is a God then God is time. Time gives the universe permission to exist and it gives us permission to experience it.
Our human label makers will break one day. And the universe will take no notice. Time will wheel and erode and create and let this universe keep on keepin’ on like the gigantic clock it is. Each nova a tock, each quasar a tick. And there will be no numbers ever again.
tags
Oh sideswipe of time, you raucous flow chart, actuarial tabling us from milk and cookies to cancer-ridden hardware we can’t replace. You dancing dog. Your enemies number the ones that waste you. I have known people that have loved fully and achieved mighty goals welcome death with resigned grace. It's the ones that haven’t done what they wanted and can’t see the beauty in their failure that hate clocks as much as witches hate bodies of water and piles of sticks.
Time, you have sandpapered off my corners but I am not yet a wheel. The ride is still rough. The pull of you as I roll downhill feels like gravity. You go by quicker because of your familiarity. Only adventure slows you down. Only effort makes you invisible. Only fun makes you fly.
Records broken create timestamp beasts, children of yours that embarrass themselves until they are broken again. You cannot be divided. We have not yet found your smallest number. You are as unknowably vast to us as space. The fact that we have the audacity to measure you is hubris.
According to us, the Earth is out by a whole day every four years. According to US, the EARTH is OUT by a whole day every four years. What unbelievable arrogance. Foxes don’t know that they are called foxes, lions don’t know that they are called lions, and time does not know that it is comprised of hours and minutes and seconds.
There are no stopwatches in space. The right amount of time to make a sun ignite is merely the right amount. The number of revolutions needed to create a planet is merely the number of revolutions needed. If it cannot be a planet, it will be an asteroid belt. If it cannot be an asteroid belt, it will be rings around a gas giant. Nothing is measured. It merely exists. And time is what enables it to happen.
If there is a God then God is time. Time gives the universe permission to exist and it gives us permission to experience it.
Our human label makers will break one day. And the universe will take no notice. Time will wheel and erode and create and let this universe keep on keepin’ on like the gigantic clock it is. Each nova a tock, each quasar a tick. And there will be no numbers ever again.
tags
Hunting the elusive backbone is thirsty work for an aging matador turning tricks to get by.
Jedi knights do puzzles in the dark when they are banished to desert planets. Young men eat raw peacock in between bouts of depression so deep and wide that they become used to the pressure. Thousand-dollar suits drape the CEO flab of Karl Rove lookalikes while the illusion of power sparkles cocaine-bright in their cave-dwelling piggy eyes. They are reflected in the sunglasses of the prostitutes who are not prostitutes.
Model slash actresses make eye contact, pinning butterflies to cardboard cutouts at parties far from downtown cores in houses with great views. Amazing abdominal muscles pull young people from power point presentation to car crash in the hopes of being discovered. Even gods drift through these beaded curtains to take leave of their senses in fountains stinking of cash. It’s all water in apologetic toilets. It’s all bears with cancer at the circus. It’s all dream-logic slavery.
The pole that lets a person stand is not the same as strings that keep a person from falling. Your puppetry has become an echo of a reminder of a lost photograph of a dead friend you can barely remember. This purpose-driven economy that’s replaced your soul is a Christmas light in the mouth of a shark. I need you to eat the dog tags. I want you to dip your hands into printer ink and starting punching the walls. Leave evidence of your passage, they say. Do not try to sneak through this life.
I’ve won lotteries ten years in the making. Entire ear-wax sculptures of soldier-salute deafness have rolled around in you to get dirty. Strength has come to both of us in drum solo fits and crocodile-roll grinding like cars taking a long time to start on Alberta winter mornings. We are kite-string forever trying.
Whether you’re flying or crawling, the hunt will continue. And you will never be alone in that.
tags
Jedi knights do puzzles in the dark when they are banished to desert planets. Young men eat raw peacock in between bouts of depression so deep and wide that they become used to the pressure. Thousand-dollar suits drape the CEO flab of Karl Rove lookalikes while the illusion of power sparkles cocaine-bright in their cave-dwelling piggy eyes. They are reflected in the sunglasses of the prostitutes who are not prostitutes.
Model slash actresses make eye contact, pinning butterflies to cardboard cutouts at parties far from downtown cores in houses with great views. Amazing abdominal muscles pull young people from power point presentation to car crash in the hopes of being discovered. Even gods drift through these beaded curtains to take leave of their senses in fountains stinking of cash. It’s all water in apologetic toilets. It’s all bears with cancer at the circus. It’s all dream-logic slavery.
The pole that lets a person stand is not the same as strings that keep a person from falling. Your puppetry has become an echo of a reminder of a lost photograph of a dead friend you can barely remember. This purpose-driven economy that’s replaced your soul is a Christmas light in the mouth of a shark. I need you to eat the dog tags. I want you to dip your hands into printer ink and starting punching the walls. Leave evidence of your passage, they say. Do not try to sneak through this life.
I’ve won lotteries ten years in the making. Entire ear-wax sculptures of soldier-salute deafness have rolled around in you to get dirty. Strength has come to both of us in drum solo fits and crocodile-roll grinding like cars taking a long time to start on Alberta winter mornings. We are kite-string forever trying.
Whether you’re flying or crawling, the hunt will continue. And you will never be alone in that.
tags