Consummatum est

Sunday, 31 July 2011

Topic pro­vid­ed by Miles Budimir was: “2nd law of ther­mo­dy­nam­ics (en­tropy, etc…)”

Writing time: 47 min­utes.

Discarded ideas: empiricism/​mysticism, us­ing wry­neck form

Kept ideas: cat­a­log, light tone with se­ri­ous top­ic

I shall fall off a cliff and die
and like a blind dog falling off the same cliff,
my son will die, and his son; 
from that same cliff until, one day, that
fucking cliff will fall off itself.

its crumbs shall crumble into themselves
until the earth becomes a peppery dust
that makes the sun sneeze; blown away. 

The waning moon will wonder 
what it did deserve this. 

                                yea verily,
and the sun shall use the last 
fingernail crescent of the moon for a
toothpick before going nova.

Eventually,
the empty wake of space will lap against itself
for a bit, and at that ceasing; here,
after the end of time, and not since before the beginning
of time, for the second time,
it may be quiet enough to think.

For All Is Vanity

Thursday, 16 September 2010

“I said in mine heart con­cern­ing the es­tate of the sons of men, that God might man­i­fest them, and that they might see that they them­selves are beasts. For that which be­fal­l­eth the sons of men be­fal­l­eth beasts; even one thing be­fal­l­eth them: as the one di­eth, so di­eth the oth­er; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no pre­em­i­nence above a beast: for all is van­i­ty. All go un­to one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again. Who knoweth the spir­it of man that goeth up­ward, and the spir­it of the beast that goeth down­ward to the earth? Wherefore I per­ceive that there is noth­ing bet­ter, than that a man should re­joice in his own works; for that is his por­tion: for who shall bring him to see what shall be af­ter him?”

Ecclesiastes 3:18 – 22, Holy Bible, King James Version

Eulogy for Iris

Wednesday, 26 September 2007

Iris My mother’s dog Iris was killed by a coy­ote to­day in the fall rains. I re­mem­ber when we got her, eleven or twelve years ago, not long af­ter my parent’s di­vorce. We drove quite a dis­tance to find the dachs­hund pup­pies and I picked the lone black & tan one from the lit­ter. I kept her in my coat on the way home and she whim­pered and yelped for hours on end. I said I was go­ing to keep her with me through the night, but her yip­ing was such that I passed her off to mom that same night, and she was hers from then on. I told mom that’s how I knew that I wasn’t ready to have a child.

She had sev­en nip­ples. I called her Iris Underfoot be­cause she was al­ways around my feet, and I ac­ci­den­tal­ly stepped on her a few times when she was a pup­py sit­ting right be­hind me as I washed dish­es. She grew ex­tra bowl-legged be­cause of this. She was a princess of a dog, and my mom would nev­er pun­ish her for get­ting in­to the trash or chew­ing through just about any­thing. When we had to start caging her, mom bought the largest cage for a lit­tle minia­ture dachs­hund. If ever my mom and I went to hug each oth­er she’d grow in­dig­nant and bark and bark un­til we stopped. She was in­dig­nant about a lot of dif­fer­ent things, a gal­lon of fuss and both­er in a pint of dog. She would run and run and run and pa­trol the acres of yard we had and it was hi­lar­i­ous to watch her tear across the yard af­ter some­thing or some­one.

She used to front on the hors­es in the field next door and one day Beau the horse de­cid­ed to mess with her, he gal­loped to­ward her, Iris was frozen in fear, slowed and stopped in front of her and then just nudged her with his nose. She yiped and skedad­dled. I’m pret­ty sure she nev­er act­ed up­pi­ty to the hors­es ever again, in­stead choos­ing to reg­u­lar­ly cor­ner [and get sprayed by] a skunk un­der the deck. She wouldn’t eat, drink or poop if mom wasn’t around.

Her full name was The Lady County Blue Iris Jean McAfee MacDougal Onassis von Barnard Jean Harvey III, Esq. Berghein-Leer; and though I gave her a lot of shit, I’ll miss her.

Today, of Death

Monday, 2 September 2002

to­day i talk about death. log­i­cal­ly peo­ple should have no fear of death. il­log­i­cal­ly we try var­i­ous and sundry forms to pro­long our lives and use ter­mi­nol­o­gy such as es­cape, cheat, and avoid in ref­er­ence to death. News flash. no one can es­cape, cheat or avoid death. pe­ri­od. life and death are di­choto­mous and can­not ex­ist apart from their op­po­site. if there is no death, there can be no vi­able idea of life if it has no point of ref­er­ence, no fini­tude. per­haps that is why in­fin­i­ty is so hard to com­pre­hend, since we are in­finite­ly finite. this holds true for all di­chotomies.

there is al­so the null set, in­dif­fer­ence, lack of ei­ther life/​death, love/​hate, sacred/​profane. where all is void. un­ex­plain­able by me.