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They say to always trust your gut
I picture that hideous being
Slithering like a boneless crow
Mucusing eel-moist
Through its office in my stomach
This itching, infected, raw, cyborg beast
Fed by a periscope
Of a media flood it doesn’t understand
Broken radar firing like a machine gun
Having the nerve to call itself intuition
Eyes lighthouse owling,
Swiveling and greedy for any scrap of input
To gulp into its hindbrain-mind
Like a jerking, slobbering calf at an udder
Shaking the clumped, wet locks of its judge’s wig
Muttering of threats and ego
A litany of gibbering brought on by isolation
Speaking in suspicion and side-eye
Wringing its cold, damp hands and cackling
A bloated spider in a cavern
A selfish, fearful, ignorant, repulsive idiot
Continually drunk on worry and high on tension
Slapping the panic button like a bongo drum
Wary of all who it sees as different
Which is almost everyone
Omniphobic and baselessly prejudiced
This Neolithic, squirrel-brained, anxiety-drenched tumour
Capable of generating the worst conclusions possible
And sending them all stamped URGENT
To my center of operations
Why did biology give this subhuman beast a loudspeaker?
A bullhorn with access to my mind?
I’m supposed to obey it when it tells me to flee a perfectly fine party?
To suspect a random new friend I just met?
My gut takes two plus two and comes up with
“Fear. Flee. Leave. Get out. Hate.”
“Protect yourself before it’s too late.”
Or whatever other wildly off-base equivalents
It can shovel into the engine
Worst of all, it spends half of its time
Hurling abuse at a mirror
That I foolishly lent it decades ago
I don’t trust my gut
Every now and then I give it a bone
And a pat on the head
And say “That’s nice.”
I’m jealous of other people’s guts
Those unerring, precise, hyper-intelligent clairvoyant psychics
That I hear about
Masters of deduction
That have never disappointed their owners
If you can always trust your gut,
You have my envy and admiration
(But my gut says not to trust you)
tags
I picture that hideous being
Slithering like a boneless crow
Mucusing eel-moist
Through its office in my stomach
This itching, infected, raw, cyborg beast
Fed by a periscope
Of a media flood it doesn’t understand
Broken radar firing like a machine gun
Having the nerve to call itself intuition
Eyes lighthouse owling,
Swiveling and greedy for any scrap of input
To gulp into its hindbrain-mind
Like a jerking, slobbering calf at an udder
Shaking the clumped, wet locks of its judge’s wig
Muttering of threats and ego
A litany of gibbering brought on by isolation
Speaking in suspicion and side-eye
Wringing its cold, damp hands and cackling
A bloated spider in a cavern
A selfish, fearful, ignorant, repulsive idiot
Continually drunk on worry and high on tension
Slapping the panic button like a bongo drum
Wary of all who it sees as different
Which is almost everyone
Omniphobic and baselessly prejudiced
This Neolithic, squirrel-brained, anxiety-drenched tumour
Capable of generating the worst conclusions possible
And sending them all stamped URGENT
To my center of operations
Why did biology give this subhuman beast a loudspeaker?
A bullhorn with access to my mind?
I’m supposed to obey it when it tells me to flee a perfectly fine party?
To suspect a random new friend I just met?
My gut takes two plus two and comes up with
“Fear. Flee. Leave. Get out. Hate.”
“Protect yourself before it’s too late.”
Or whatever other wildly off-base equivalents
It can shovel into the engine
Worst of all, it spends half of its time
Hurling abuse at a mirror
That I foolishly lent it decades ago
I don’t trust my gut
Every now and then I give it a bone
And a pat on the head
And say “That’s nice.”
I’m jealous of other people’s guts
Those unerring, precise, hyper-intelligent clairvoyant psychics
That I hear about
Masters of deduction
That have never disappointed their owners
If you can always trust your gut,
You have my envy and admiration
(But my gut says not to trust you)
tags
