Awake sleep insomnia the quiet of the night, deepest slumber denied but still I dream but the dream becomes words in sequence like passing seconds that mark my solitude the veil, dark, covers the land the wind, strong scours the trees the sleep that evades me the day that starts before the others even waken and after so many years after so many meetings in front of this screen my lack of sleep is not a lack of rest but a nap, waiting to happen and waiting is what insomnia teaches
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The world cannot be saved, not in any spiritual or religious way. It doesn't need salvation, resting as always in absolute perfection, the world and it's wonders are beyond any human ideas. The world cannot be saved, but we shall, misguidedly proceed on a pilgrim's journey to redeem what gives us base. Like some retired, first grade teacher whose pedagogical insights fail when applied to adult life and the real world, no ritual, no march or riot will make what is any better. The world cannot be saved, in another sense still, by new age fancy, gender-based empowerment, or deconstructive stratagem. The world clings to all it contains, so nothing is better than anything else if it has been deemed fit to be. The world cannot be saved, not stored up or hamstered away, no investment for the future can invest anything with more value than the world already has. So let us not save the world, better to run from it.
They hardly give a care, as they go about their tasks.
We complain and cry, we are unhappy and dont really know why.
The beetle carries on, even when all it has to eat is shit.
We want gluten-free life, so we don’t have to feel the actuality of “it”.
Bees work, arduously, not in anticipation of a day or a weekend free.
But if we don’t get a break at 10:30, for a smoke or a coffee?
Well…it’s just so unfair.
Not red in tooth and claw are we, not even fit to roam the forest at night, not ever to burn more brightly than our meager lamps allow.
A cockroach and his kin will be kings the day after tomorrow, the same as it was in a carboniferous age they remember, in some ancient memory.
Like little pink things that wriggle in fur-lined nests, we are so soft and oh so very weak.
But evolution offers a way to change, to toughen up and be free outside the cage.
We can become strong, in the face of opposition we can flourish.
Join us, join the great We.
Grow a hard shell. Be tarantula, be wasp, be armored.
Be chitinous and harsh, when you need to be.
Precarious? Hilarious! We’ll see…
Rest assured that when the wind blows, you will feel free.
And unless you are a dung beetle, don’t accept any shit.