Posts Tagged With: relative

In Memoriam of 2016

In memoriam of 2016.

 

You were a year. From start to finish, your sum is the increment of time occupying a calculable distance across space. You gave me the feeling of certainty. You convinced me that time is tangible.

Between you and me, you weren’t a bad year.

It helps me convert this collective mass of moments into a solid human aggregate. Put simply: I like to anthropomorphize the years.

Your name was Joey. You had a mole on your left cheek & a pencil-thin mustache. Your hair was parted in the middle where you’re been examining your hair loss every morning. You liked honey mustard on your hotdogs & you’d only masturbate on Sundays, for discipline. You had two pet mole rats & you’d feed them Ritz crackers and ice cream sometimes. You had a nervous habit of itching your belly button and smelling the lint. It smelled like crab cakes made with fake crab. You weren’t a bad man, but you had some ill-intentions that were well-disguised beneath a propensity for tipping 25% gratuity on lunch & dinner. You’d take food off your neighbors plate when he wasn’t looking. You were perpetually 10 minutes late for work and you lied to your dentist about flossing.

 

You spent your last day waiting quietly in the rain at a bus stop. You were wearing a wool blazer that had gradually been soaked through a leak in the skylight. The bus schedule had been changed without notice. You waited until hypothermia killed you blue.

Now that you’re over, I’m not so sure what I’ll do with this old calendar.

Even worse, now that you’re gone I’m not so sure about time.

Where does time live when there is no calendar to keep tabs on it?

I can’t get another 2016, Joey. I just can’t.
I spent a lot of time in 2016 forgetting about time.

You know what I accomplished? The cells in my body continued to grow & decay in strict relation to my surrounding environment. I observed these processes in unison. It sounded often like music, which I enjoyed halfway despite my immense boredom at classical arrangements.
There’s a lot I want to say to you now that you’re gone, Joey.
I wrote this poem for you:

They say that every rose has it’s thorn,
And every shape has its form.

Just like every clock has its hand
And every native lives on land.

Every candle has a wick
And every prostitute charges, even for a lick.

Every square has four corners, every circle has none
Each day lives through darkness, just like space holds every sun.

As a relative concept, time is pretty cool. It makes sense.

It’s something I can read. It lives in shadows and it’s written mostly on the wall.
2016’s abrupt end left a lot of questions lingering.

In an expanding universe, does time expand?

If so, do our clocks compensate for that expansion or does the watch shop sell expansion packs?

These things, I fear, we’ll never know by thinking.

So long & thanks for all the dust, 2016.

I’ll think of you during my next few bowel movements as the meat of the year filters out my intestines & swirls gradually down the porcelain highway to Shittsville.

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Long-Winded Midnight Rant #36: Intrepid Emissions of Insanity

am I the only one
who feels justifiably insane
around the clock?

Hand me a language built on opposites
point and name the objects before me
explain how to explain explanations with more words
one word implies another, generally in terms of polarity
good references bad
we call this “rational”, “logical”, and “acceptable” on a relative level
as opposed to “irrational”, “illogical” and “unacceptable” on an ultimate level

this form of communication
doesn’t hold a greasy candle
to a hard look in the eyes
keep your eyes on the prize
(the prize is you)
and you are fucking gorgeous

But still, we don’t see it;
don’t breast feed the babies,
give ‘em the bottle.
Is there not a whining child beneath all these layers
just begging for Mother’s Milk?

I can’t even ask such things because
some sexually repressed cocaine addict
named Freud
made a whole bunch of assumptions
weighing massive burdens down on upon all.

no, I don’t want to fuck my mother,
I just want some goddamn milk!

for once in this whole wretched wheel of life
I want to feel
that I actually belong in this skin
to feel
that someone understands
feels
connects
loves without expectations

But no, fuck no, we can’t go there
it’s too much emotion, that boy needs therapy
it must be chemical imbalance, yeah that’s the one

Oh, thinks he’s talking with God?
He says he sometimes reads the thoughts of others?
He believes he can conceive past lives and future events?
We’ll just file those altered perceptions under the heading:
schizophrenia… yes, the old shizotypal personality disorder
unveiled by psychedelic drug use
and exacerbated  by preexisting mental illness;
fractured ego, that one
he won’t accept the name we gave him
he keeps saying he’s eternal
and laughs when we ask him to name it
Let’s twist his words and style him a self-declared messiah

Send me your finest shrink
I’ll box his head right in with mine
blow for blow,
they’re boxers, I’m wildstyle
I’ve been there before
I’m here again
and it reminds me of a joke:
a psych ward patient claims to be Christ in form
and the psychiatrist claims to be a doctor
and they each think the other is crazy

Onto the next one
she can’t hold tight,
hanging loose all over the place
feeling strong tides of emotion
screaming, laughing, crying
perhaps she is bi-polar?
Those pendulum swings are awfully extreme.
We live in the land of polar opposites
she’s acting out the madness
while polar bears drown in salty water
and Americans drown
in salty French fries and salty margaritas

Does anyone else feel this way or am I alone here?
anyone? how about this,

what the fuck
is in this so-called food
they serve in these institutions?
You know, hospitals, jails, state schools…

You ever work in a corporate restaurant, deli, grocery store and see how much good food gets tossed?

Does anyone feel the rumbling of  stomachs ‘round the world?
does anybody hear the rumbling of the tectonic plates beneath their feet?
do you feel the sun dancing down on your shoulders?
the rain singing misty songs of ebb & flow?
the songs of birds in the morning air, leading a magnificent example for us all?

And now I am expected to do something about this perfect mess.
ALL ON ME, right Dad???
Old Uncle Sam, chewin skoal and drinkin Budweiser,
you fat bastard.
Hey Lady Liberty,
you dusty old pregnant bitch,
have you got something up that dress we can use for this?

(On the real, no disrespect meant to the *real* lady liberty,
Cleopatra / Mary Magdelene
The real lady liberty is not a statue.
Check the history.
Cleopatra and Caesar, sitting in a tree
making a secret baby named
C-H-R-I-S-T
Gnosic Gospels have been discredited
because knowledge has been discredited
the word Gnostic
is derived from Gnosis
meaning, “to know”
as in “Gnothi Seauton”
“Know Thyself”)

Damn fucking straight, I’ve lost it, gone off, scattered the marbles.
I’ll be sorted out by morning, don’t worry about it.
Snowballs can make avalanches, folks. It all starts with awareness.

The air tastes like aluminum particles
Now, what the fuck was I doing again?
Oh right, back to Mother’s Milk
nectar of the universe:

Om Mani Peme Hung

Categories: Prose, Rants, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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