“Here comes another grey morning,
a not-so-good morning after all…
She says, ‘Well what am I to do today,
with too much time and so much sorrow…’
The clouds with their heads on the ground,
she’s gonna have to come down…
She said, ‘Move me, move me, I’m locked up inside,’
but I didn’t understand her, though God knows I tried…
She said, ‘Make me angry, or just make me cry,
but no more grey morning, I think I’d rather die.’”
“In an instant”
Easily,
in an instant,
you could have not been born.
You could have had nothing.
You could have lost
the sun, the sky,
the slow moon ascending,
and the harmony
and flicker of leaves.
You could have lost
the rain’s splash
exciting the soil,
the blue beyond,
and the light
and absence of light.
You could have lost everything.
And I could have lost the same,
never knowing the cure
for thirst in a world without you.
“A song”
I know you are threadbare and worn
with the weary strike of iron
ringing the notes in your name,
And even the tireless minstrel
is tired of his own insistence
on solitude’s graceless strain.
Yet it had been enough,
and the mournful sounds a song,
Had we but moved without motion
in motion through the dawn.
I read the strangest story in my in my literature class, said Harlan. What was it about? said Blurtso. It was about an aquarium of axolotls, said Harlan. What’s an axolotl? said Blurtso. An axolotl is an ancient, tadpole-like creature. What happened in the story? said Blurtso. Nothing, said Harlan, the axolotls just sat around on the bottom of the aquarium looking through the glass. What a great story, said Blurtso.
I wonder how far a snowflake can fall? I wonder if it changes along the way? I wonder if it starts big and gets smaller, or starts small and gets bigger? I wonder if it thinks it has control over where it’s going, or if it thinks it’s directed by gravity and wind? Maybe gravity and wind are within it, and it does control where it’s going. And the things that create gravity and wind are also within it. And a snowflake determines not only its own course, but the course of time, matter, and space.
I wonder if anyone else likes to watch the snow like I do? It’s kind of like watching a movie. Maybe I should make some popcorn to eat while I watch the snow fall…
I wonder if anyone else likes to watch popcorn pop like I do? It’s kind of like watching a movie. Maybe I should make some popcorn to eat while I watch the popcorn pop…
“Her hand was writing before he was writing, then her hand was writing when he was writing and he was writing what she was writing. And his hand was hers. But hers was not his. Then his hand was writing, and her hand was writing, then hers was not, and his was not.”
Hmmm, thought Blurtso, no more football.
I wonder how much I can get for my TV?
Kahlil Gibran, said Pablo, in the section, “On Children”, writes:
“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.”
That’s very profound, said Blurtso. Yes, it is, said Pablo.
I wonder, said Blurtso, if Gibran was a donkey in a former life?
listen to “Take me there”