Ramblings from the couch (8/22/14)
The reason I don’t write novels
(without delving too deep into the abstract)
is simple enough;
I am afraid of time
eating my life
(which inevitably
it will)
these page long renditions
of thought and analysis
help to thwart
all the dreadful horror
brought on by
the obviousness of society
I can feel them all
spying from another room
peering through the crack in the door
looking in on my neurosis
slicing my being into fresh samples
and placing them on Petri dishes
to be studied and analyzed
and I look up at them
from my Petri dish
and tell them
No! you can’t understand me
and they scribble words
into notebooks
and draw conclusions
and draft papers
explaining the paradox
of the human condition
but there is no rationalizing
when it comes to us
and what we are
or do
or say
there is only us
and how
great we truly are
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