OUTSOURCED
No one seems to notice the usual, usual, usual thing. The business of America is business is politics trumped. Sugar and shit attract flies . . .
Apologize to whom? for being bored with the media, all media. Ads, propaganda, lies, and all the rest being mostly irrelevant. (Oh. So now he's going to launch a fantasy!)
Einstein's reality: For his Energy equation he booked the speed of light squared! Isn't that special. It's curious because physicists agree that nothing can exceed the speed of light. To suggest multiplying itself by itself is real? Light cannot not go faster than light. His cohorts also insist that there is a square root of negative one, whatever that is because two negatives multiplied give a positive result. This is a logical disgrace.
Dare I propose a truce? Perhaps a prisoner swap. I offer intuition, widely held, and not a bad deal. I declare it a psi phenomenon. Actually the swap is already partly done, like a Trojan horse: Dark Matter is now good science. It is said to permeate visible matter and invisible space, and quantum physicists already know it trumps time. If it were human, as indeed it is, it would laugh. And I am. Until the wound heals, scriptures, equations and sutras are sutures.
It might be that there is no closing bell for all of this, but on the other hand how about Death? Opinions vary.
And climate change. . . ?
Dungeons and the usual, usual are transparent to the insourced one. And doves.
How beautiful their feathers, finer than the most expensive suit any human can buy. Why not a small plate of seeds on the table at my elbow? They watch patiently.
Next day on the table a few seeds are scattered, a few on the patio beneath.
The day after that -- no change, so I empty the plate into the feeder.
On the fourth day a very small bird arrives to look around. It hops around my toes. But no seeds there.
Day five and the little one returns to try its luck with big doves in the feeder. But they shoo it off. So it circles back to my shoe -- no seeds.
As it happens, we have a small red plastic dish for tidbits, a couple of inches in diameter and shallow. Just right.
Now everyone is happy.
I don't drink coffee anymore, too jagged. And now I'm getting back my sense of smell. The compost bird is here again.
Time for a cup of tea.
Then just sitting.
