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Month: November 2019

The Sheer Unabashed Misery of Speculative Fiction

The Sheer Unabashed Misery of Speculative Fiction

It’s a common theme among
Certain kinds of philosophers
That life would have no meaning
If it never ended

Well, it’s not common, really;
It’s rarely ever brought up,
To be frank
Or Celt for that matter

I see things in a different way,
And always have
Due to my double helix
Glasses, tilted raffishly to one side

So I dissent
And dissent again
Which is to say
I pour another whiskey

Getting a drop or two inside
The snifter or me

It’s understandable to consider
An endless life as endlessly meaningless
Though I’d at least like to give it a try
— Not as I am now, of course

I’d have to be young, hale and hearty like a god
Or what’s the blooming pint?

Existential fantasy: it’s what’s for breakfast

The Purpose of Life is Life

The Purpose of Life is Life

Everything is ex
There is no why

We don’t have a clue
We don’t have a rationale

Beyond bad or good or great
Fictions

This is how we survive
This is where it takes place

My store of knowledge
Is on East Main Street

So the Thought Police usually
Leave me alone

 

There is strength in numbers
Fewer than twenty

More than that and we have
Problems and they

Investigate
They always investigate

Big numbers
Big figures

Big loops and swirls
And counterfactuals

And
Golden means of production . . .

They also tend to
Giggle at Fibonacci

When they see the name
In Nature and beyond

I hide them in the back
So the Thought Police

Never see them
I hate the way they laugh