Fireflies

There is such a thing as being too stressed to give the love you have, or too hurt to feel the love you were given
There is such a thing as being consumed by things bigger and smaller
You won’t know the truth sometimes for ten years –
And for the big things, twenty and thirty
Time will build itself into a river that you will learn to swim in, a foundation to tiptoe on to keep your head above water
I always thought we were mirrors, but we’re lenses (lenzes that project and capture)
And its levels all the way up, and suffering all the way down (doun)
And when you are headed there, no preperations can prevent your pain – though it can amortize it over time, for preperation itself is a wise suffering &
I admit, life looks like a twilight zone the more rational you become –
But [her emails] at the same time, the very mature-rationality that allows you to see the unreality of things normalizes them into reality;
Time is a double edged sword, cuts and cauterizes
We are all wabi-sabi, inperfectly adorned, part of the broken beautifuk, horrible, magical thing, we hate and love [we cannot look away from this wreck, we can but paint it like shakespeare, point at it like lao tzu]
The powerless are powerless
[we live in a society]
Time is timeless, the wize ones saw all this,
Not nostradumass (“I call him pic-asso”), for there is no fortelling, but it never quite changes
The pilferings of power figues and their courtiers
The ancients, the post modernists, the hippies, what more could they do in their time than we our’s:
Or rather, maybe we should ask, what hasn’t been done yet,
Or better yet, what has to happen;
For economies and physics only ever operate on necessity
A poet never says passivity: nay, not the songbird prisoner who isn’t supposed to know they are prisoner but knows and plays the tune anyway, because it’s fun to play, and someone else might need the song,
So we play hide and seek, chasing cars
Getting lost and found:
Where’s Waldo and Carmen San Diego;
Trying to leave the thing but still in the thing because there is only one way out of the thing, and no one of us wants to go before our time,
So we try at once to hide and be seen
But we forget: we’re all Saints and criminals, it’s a spectrum, like gayness, gender, and conformity
We stand like blades of grass on the head of earth, bound to eternally recur in the theater of time –
Leo-gatsby-cheers to all my wisely skeptical brains in vats out there
But the greatest crime ever done philosophy was that old windbag plato saying “All I know is that I know nothing.”,
Now there’s a man who wanted to keep his head – I get it
[Socrates, u a real one]
But the idea, even the chimera of it, that knowledge somehow eats its tail and leads back to ignorance or a fuzzy uncertainty is untrue;
Dunning-Kruger, okay, but there is a mature eye that sees accurately
There is a capital T truth (:
[But it’s lonely]
Though democracy will have you thinking consensus reality is unreliable –
Though maybe it is;
Maybe wisdom can only be verified by itself
Maybe all the biggest truths are forever hidden,
Like fireflies in our hearts,
keeping the light on in us

soda note: false humulity prevents animosity but it also cripples admiration – it is no co-incidence that your emersons, thoreaus, those who can look life in the eye and call it what it is, live outside of it:
It’s a goddamn shame, society;
Poverty,
The individuals: the billions of people that make the collective nationalized backs that break so a few can stand on the world we hold up and say: “Oh what a view” –
How’s heaven guys?… because there are poor teenagers who dream of Paris and will die having never left Baton Rouge or LA –
We don’t give people their due, or even an, “I’m sorry it is this way” –
That grocery workers on their feet all day aren’t millionaires,
But instead are invisible:
Ironic our essential people are all expendible employees with no security, not even HEALTHCARE
Now they are all we have left:
And it’s not time to play politics,
But you can hold your hat and mutter at the same goddamn time
For all the marginalized, who are not on the balance sheet and thus are living outside the lines, in margins, where you do not go: Thomas and Jenny getting your whole foods delivered,
Stocking up the last two weeks, while the poor have to go to the store a gallon of milk at a goddamn time, the homeless a meal at a time – your scraps at a time
But alas, we blame these poor folks, these people
We judge those who have least most –
Oh, my anger at these discompassions! these lost casualties amongst the forgotten,
They will die most in this:
There’s a reason Democrats want racial and other demographic data:
People are going to die who couldn’t afford a life that would have allowed them to live –
And yes, Kings will die too;
Boo fucking hoo notre dame cathedral – I’d trade the whole piece of shit for 1 ventalator for tommy’s mom
A lot of really damn decent Karens will die, moms and dads, and lonely folks with no friends whose names you will never hear, uber drivers, car service people, flight attendants, liquor store clerks, doctors, delivery people –
And as time goes on, and we hide in our houses, they are on the frontlines
I am so angry I have lost my train of thought.. I can’t fucking even.
And if you’re not mad, you’re just removed from it, that’s how life works
Those who only care about their own backyards can’t see over the fences they built or were born behind

edit: this poem ran away like a train, but I think many of us are feeling a simultaneous multitudinal kashi of feelings right now. so, let’s just all let ourselves amd everyone else be imperfect and hooman, and whole and beautiful now. because we’ve ran for too long, too hard, and we have a long way to go.

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