the fluid dynamics of language

Last text message stamps that turn from time to day to date watching fiction fabricate where love profession became kiss-sealed fate. Determining if terminal velocity has been accelerated passed at a change in change in distance greater than gravity while existing unknowing with respect to and with no respect for

space. A little bit too tipsy to the point of topsy turning. A little bit too little: a tiny chunk: a minuscule nibble. A finger in to test the waters, the temperature of misplaced tea. The temperature of a tepid day with higher than bearable levels of humidity for individual hairs to stay put in organized chaos. Chaos so chaotic it can only be described by a law, the second one, it’s fundamental thermodynamic the heating the cooling trying to contain to construct to solidify the abstract into the concrete so concrete so rigid so indifferent unemotional.

why i don’t participate in politics

This world is not a dystopia: it is a constant plus or minus variation on the ever-changing landscape of time, made up of individuals exchanging the highs and lows of tiny experiences, all subjectively placed on a spectrum ranging from good to bad and probably reaching far better and worse than those.  This world is not a dystopia, but there are a lot of things wrong in the world if wrongness is determined by at least one person believing that a change could cause an improvement in their life or the lives of others (either present or future or both).  There are a lot of things wrong in the world, but it seems that this wrongness stems from differing opinions on what would constitute an improvement in the current state of existence, and what would constitute a degradation.

There are a lot of things wrong in the world, but I don’t think they all have to be fixed with some blanket solution that appeases everyone, because such a solution is an attempt to achieve an unreachable goal, and such movements towards that solution produce smaller and smaller ever-exponentially decaying returns on investment to an asymptote of maximum overall utopic appeasement that both cannot be reached and should not reasonably be strived for, for to strive for maximum appeasement is to reduce the importance of gratitude when good enough should be good enough because it is enough and contention towards contentment is a fight for fighters who say they want peace but won’t give into peace because peace doesn’t force the equality that satiates the whims and needs of all individual indulgences in a consumeristic society. Isn’t a good deal one where both sides feel like they are getting screwed but walk away knowing they could do no better, assuming neither side wants to be on the losing side nor wants to force others to lose with a great recognition of loss? 

There is a natural order to everything, with tension and opposition, where wrongs are not righted by direct opposition, but by a settling balance. The tug and pull of differing perspectives with mismatched rankings of importance where both sides are striving to right a clearly marked wrong reaches a power-play-produced equilibrium where both sides are fighting so hard to correct said opposing wrong that neither can make the other budge from their position of supposed rightness (which may (at times) be more out of pride and stubbornness than infallible belief in a cause). This kind of balance risks breaking with a sudden snap and forcing one side forward and another back with a chaotic blast that shocks both parties and breathes life into brand new problems with brand new opposing solutions as teams once again form along The Next Big Panacea’s proposition lines.  

If both sides were to concede and accept some imperfections, that too would represent an equilibrium, but one where both sides could relax with a tension much less likely to reach a breaking point. Peace is not a state of perfect equality, but a state acceptance and appreciation of inequalities. A body at rest can and will stay at rest, when all of the forces acting upon it are in balance. I want to lessen the pressure exerted on my own body, and remain at rest, by accepting my own lot in life, and doing what little I can to overcome my little struggles and navigate my own personal highs and lows.  I checked the weather today: it’s not so bad out there. 

the war on drugs

recock gunshot sudden recoil. drugs smoked off of aluminum foil. falling fleeing losing feeling. unknown unplugged rewind reeling. fast-forward timeline torn to tatters. breathing in breaking down losing touch fried gray matter. op ed opt in open call open role. state your worth sell your time pay your taxes take your tolls. reductionist absurdity boiled down still bubbling. evaporation nothing left drinking air for sustenance. words on tongues: dissolving melting. thoughts on repeat: screaming belting. a helping hand’s a handout when necessity commands. supply some bad ideals create demand demand demand. mixed media mixed emotions mixing drinks with pill prescriptions. doctors put on pedestals for treating fake afflictions. but does it help who does it help? the difference is the payout. we’ve done all that we could do says a whisper like a shout. pain killers kill pain until a shake rings empty silence. in absence needles fill the veins of new street market clients. advertising: consult your doctor don’t dare live days discomforted. a war on drugs is a fight for big pharma: which side have you supported?

asking for subjectivity

I don’t know where to start because I am not at the start I am somewhere in the middle or at least I am off to the side and I can’t quite put a self-representative pin in my place on the map. I don’t know if I am lost or directionless and I am not sure which questions to ask or of whom they should be asked. Talk to god for guidance, in sheep-like herds at mass, but lacking god (I’m told) I’m only left with science, but science is a soulless artless self-important different-kind-of mass, and I do doubt it will offer assistance toward the reconciliation of my placelessness with my supposed position in space-time – both of which feel uncertain.

You get two alternatives: you pick one side. There is left and there is right, but I am trying to move forward, or possibly jump to a different map: some alternative world order. Tradition is as tradition does as tradition is wont to do. Hello, how are you, good, fine, farewell, and adieu. First phrases in second third fourth languages get you quite close, because who really strays?  How far could they go? The weather we’re having is fair and we’re all such fair weather acquaintances. Sharing little troubles, immersed and deeply drowning in our pseudostruggles: strangers in shared places exchanging quotes, remaining faceless. 

Which questions would you ask of someone locking eyes with yours, if you thought they were really seeing you and trying to converse? Not hearing what they want to hear, and saying what they’re supposed to say, but present, and attention-paying, and thinking on their feet.  Do you wonder do you wonder do you think they may have answers? Are you open are you willing to even ask the questions? We talk to god for guidance, under truth-seeking selfish guises, forgetting that our prayers are conversationally one-sided: there’s nothing there to learn. 

But god is dead and science holds the answers: we’ll figure out the truth, we’ll design a better future, and beyond a reasonable doubt: we’ll forget how to be human.  I see the choices I am given: I’ve learned my rights from wrongs. But tradition is as tradition does as tradition is wont to do. I’ll give it all up I’ll toss it away: gods and science for some areas of grey.  I am willing and open, and the question I’m posing: what does everyman have to say?