ProcrastinationI fall behind in this class I am in because, while I am forced to pay attention to something that my consciousness did not actually decide to pay attention to, my thoughts begin to wander. The mental state I am in in these moments is amazing. Because I am rejecting paying attention to something I know I should be paying attention to -- and that knowing is very present in moments of procrastination -- there are rarely other worries or anxieties or metaphorical black clouds besides that procrastination, which, relative to other worries or anxieties I might experience in other situations throughout the day, is very minor, especially considering that over the years I have become very habituated with it.Ironically, these are the moments I feel most inspired to write, to get thoughts out in words while I am in such a fantastic mental state to do so -- exactly as I am doing now, which further deepens and potentiates the procrastination.I'm told I shouldn't procrastinate because it gets in t
Serotonergic SunlightCountless sizeless and timeless stars, balls of serotonergic sunlight, gleaming representations of energy. Moments in time.A time when it was all perfect, suspended, and infinite.A progressive compiled perceptual memory log begets maturity and acceptance of the everprogression of cell bundles maturing, plateauing, decaying over the course of pleasantly-allotted time intervals, cycles, groups of hours in days in years on calendars.Pictures of a father with less wrinkles and more hair, a ten-year-old you beaming on his knee, the two of you on a leather reclining chair and time is not even an issue, the genuine upcurl of mouth muscles halting the psychological perception of a clock's minute hand.Countless sizeless and timeless moments like these, all nestled back in cubbies of perception; not competing for brightness but contributing to the light of the interdimensional lantern of happiness.But the lantern flickers with nostalgia for a distant sun once known, now only experienced in
Poisoning the NestIt's time to be selective in the things we really need.Something isn't right, and we're clearly not at peace.Not at peace with nature -- not even with ourselves.Too big for the Nest, too proud to accept much else.
GoPlease, go.No no, not away from me, but with me. Come with me, and we'll go.We'll go.We'll go.We'll see. We'll hear. We'll touch, we'll smell, we'll taste.We'll smear. Paint on ourselves and yell. At a passing car, at the sky, at the moon. At a star. At a thousand stars.We'll shun sleep and watch the world wake up. We'll run through the street and wake the parts of the world that didn't.We'll climb a tree. We'll wait and see. The people pass below us, and we'll drop pine needles on their heads.We'll drive fast. We'll drive slow. We won't drive. Let's walk.Let's run.We'll run.We'll sweat.We won't regret, though.Because we're going.We're going. We're going.We're moving a mile a minute. We're moving a minute a mile. We're not moving. We're moving again.Did you hear that? Did you SEE that? Look at this. Look at me. Where are we? Does it matter?Time to go. Time to see the world.Ten-thousand-million-billion-trillion times a second, a minute, an hour, a day. A way. They're e
DinosaurAn explosion through your front door.A vicious dinosaur appears.He wants to eat your head,He says.But you left all your gunsIn your other pair of pantsBy your bed, and you're nowhere nearYour bed, you're here, about to danceWith this mean-looking dinosaur.But then he tells you he was kiddingAnd that he doesn't even like heads.They have an awkward texture.He just wanted to make a friend,He says,But he has no social skills,And that is the only way he knows how to say hi.He apologizes for being vicious andYou go out for ice cream with your new friend,Which is actually nice because people move out of your wayOn the street because your friend is a dinosaur.