Questions

Are we all merely migrating fragmentations of thought? What exactly does it mean to be human? Can we attempt to achieve meaning in a world full of incongruity and contradictions? How can I reconcile my knowledge of all the distant and disparate experiences and realities that are happening right now in the world along with my own, as well as those of every person spanning back all the way through history? What is time if no-one is there to count it?

If perspective is a construct, can anything we see be real or is it only illusory? Can anything elude interpretation and definition? What is an object when it is isolated from everything that would detract from its own evaluation of itself? How can I ever capture or experience the true nature of anything if it does not exist in the first place?

Can I ever even have an original idea? How many people have wondered about these questions before me? What answers did they find? Did, like me, they draw blank? Who lives and understands why? Who do you think you are? Is identity bound up in self-exhibition, or the things we exclude from view? Are these too many questions for you? Am I only tormenting myself? Why do I think so deeply about things? Should I stop?

the wasp

I pointed to the wasp and said to my mother
it has been there all day, smacking itself against the cupboard door
so desperate, in its futile attempt at freedom

look at it, just look at it

then without a word, my mother reached for a can
and suddenly the creature was engulfed in fumes
dropping down, right there on the counter top

where it became demented

as it writhed and wriggled, soundlessly
a creature in the last agonising throes of life
and all I could do was watch

the contortions of its black and yellow thorax
contracting, in an unnatural sort of pain;
one that I had unwittingly caused

for no purpose, or gain

then my mother turned to me, as though it were nothing
and told me don’t worry, it would be dead
by the time we returned to get the milk

let’s just go, come on

but still I could not avert my gaze
I was stuck there, staring desolately
appalled by the savagery of its struggle

unable to extricate itself from its fate;
a reminder of the ghastliness and affliction
we have become inured to

or bypass, because it’s not our business

so I said wait, and scooped the wasp up on a cold silver spoon
to lay it gently outside, abandoned in the dirt
where it should have been free to roam

to be what it is, and use its wings
but instead it was arrested in stillness
for the poor thing was crippled, and so was I

but oh
with guilt, with guilt

Small talk

yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda

yadda yadda yadda yadda

yadda yadda yadda yadda

yadda yadda yadda yadda

yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda

yadda yadda yadda yadda

yadda yadda yadda yadda

yadda 

yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda

yadda yadda

img_5365.jpg