The Official Issuance of a Challenge That Could Be Accepted Sometime Never, Maybe
Ambiguous, thick, largely inaccessible {to the average intellect} section about me:
Should I have known that Thierry’s father not only grew up a lucky orphan in a charming haven near the Scottish border, but also that he made himself a hard-working, easily amused Englishman who lived by the seat of his pants into adulthood? Early in life, Papa D learned about the nutritional benefits specific to bivalves (namely mussels and scallops [nothing against clams {at least not fundamentally}]). To protect his anonymity, [&] henceforth, I’ll call him (some derivative of) Daniel. His childhood isn’t sad—he enjoyed good health in daily life well into his sixties. [REDACTED] Before the arbitrary legal assignment of “adulthood,” the old chap whose crooning yarn spins upon our fortunate wheel of procedurally generated time, her future father happily let himself get swept away to Ireland alongside his more experienced {and more than apt to teach} bonnie lass [4 years his senior]. Never forget that my genetic coding dictates a colorful divergence from ordinarily wild perspectivity. I can’t think like you think; therefore, I will phrase things differently (even when we’re expressing the same thought/emotion). Evidently, their “X-rated” [you know, chromosomally] sexual primes overlapped in twisting trains of magnetic heat and fruitful passion. Madeleine [TNT] was the third of their five girls. Her “Daddy” [you remember Danny Boy, don’t you?] aligned his loyalty seasonally with a new underdog every year (in the Premier League). How could I possibly know this? A ladylike house of noble manner on the street, but a starving clan of poetic freaks between the sheeted lines of inaccessible exorbitance [REDACTED] through the linen pockets of cloudlike dreams upon the timed laps of luxurious oblivion[/oblivious luxury].
ARK
🤨
Now I have a story to tell about another. It goes like this.
So. A rather simple boy—and for some reason, I‘d be skeptical of any tales suggesting that he came into the world “very quickly and very easily” [oops, is this a spoiler?]—born into a life of obscene wealth, and who grew cocky in his confidence of living consequence-free amidst a celebrated facade of savoring indignity through indignant behavior, whether by design or otherwise, has redefined the American presidency. Cool.
Oh, dang, this is real life? So cool.
Also, in case you missed a major point of underlying implication, yeah, I’m saying that he’s still a boy. Indeed, emotionally, #45 is a little. Period. Noun.
Also, in case you were wondering, yup, I would say all this to his face; the only “challenge” would be trying not to laugh (too much). I’m just kidding—I’ve learned not to suppress laughter; it’s involuntary and feels good, after all! I’m not joking. Plus I’m not that insensitive when it comes to children with special needs. I’m just/not kidding.
In fact, give me a stage with a podium and—in a debate that would haunt The Donald for the rest of his life—I’ll make allllllllll the fluids evacuate his tired, shitty body.
Wait, am I (still not) kidding?
Even when I kid, I’m serious.
“Just another day in paradox.”
Somewhere in here, a moral about quick and easy fixes beseeches our acknowledgment, but I can’t do all the work, okay? Use your own brain, dammit. Plus I feel weirdly drunk despite having not recently imbibed any yeasty byproducts. Blame the anomalous connectivity of my neural pathways if you must.
Ahem, to be crystal fucking clear, I am saying with profound certainty that yes, absolutely, 100%, I would make a better POTUS than Donald John Trump.
Then again, I’m also quite sure that so, too, would you.
And that’s the point.
A bumbling blind person stumbles and fumbles repeatedly in leading a loyal procession across an unforgiving desert—metaphorically speaking, obviously; don’t worry about it; gosh—while slinging sand across the many faces of the people who pledged to follow him over an undulating sea of endless dunes under a scorching sun?
Hard pass.
Put another way, hell naw.
And one day, he’ll know, too.
Postscript:
Yeah but for real gimme the opportunity to man an opposing podium and I’ll pummel his plump rump into an undignified, messy submission, and this is coming from the female voice of an illegal alien.
Mmhmm. Ouch.
“Come at me, bro.”
In case you were (not) wondering, no, Donald’s appearance in Wrestlemania 23 didn’t intimidate me.
Kissy face.
Addendum:
Words just come out of me, okay? Can’t help it. I thought I was about to take a breather, but while listening to the American President’s commencement address at West Point, my head got split wide open by a freshly brewed freight train of stormy brain-puke. May I never run out of steam. Here are the contents found inside only a handful of the boxcars.
• Half-serious question: has he ever a taken speech class, and if so, what grade was he given, was it above the letter G, and am I dead?
• Unbiased observation: he can no longer say “China” without inflecting underlying hostility.
• Hyperbolic take: he announced his administration’s plan to pump 2 trillion dollars into augmenting this country’s already obscenely loaded military. He even repeated the word “trillion” before blurting, “With a T.” First, what about the “r”? Second, from which magical money tree will those funds fruit? Please provide exact GPS coordinates because I might wanna punch my ticket to Mars. Because third, are we gearing up to murder the whole fucking PLANET??
• Recurring feeling: 🤢
• Conservative opinion: increasingly, and through the synergistic combination of both his limited vernacular and inflexible demeanor, he personifies, shall we say, a one-dimensional would-be tyrant. What you see? Yeah, that’s what we’re getting.
• Liberal assessment: he falls somewhere between a black-and-white caricature of himself and a little brown bag of feces that was dropped on our porch and set ablaze.
• Remotely polite, pointlessly direct address: Mr. Trump, you should immediately abandon the mindset that the pandemic is a war and by extension that the virus is our enemy. It confuses you. COVID-19 couldn’t care less how many fancy missiles you’re stockpiling, POTUS-45, because it is physically incapable of caring at all due to being a virus and thus it technically contains NOT ONE SINGLE CELL.
To what does deprivation lead if not appreciation?
This year, we leap forward!
Well, I guess we could die instead, but that sounds so much less fun than living.
Truly hope you agree. Do it. Be hopeful.
For now, consider this collection of letters to be a (kind of) placeholder. It’ll be fleshed out later unless we’re dead. But then again, how would you eve{r/n} know?
Sigh. We’re running out of time.
Time always runs out.
Mmm, water. What’s worse at quenching an unyielding thirst? What’s better at regulating your energetic body temperature? What’s less dampening? What’s more refreshing?
Questions. Answers. Words. God. How potentially prophetic, how poetically emphatic, how flexibly right, how usefully wrong, how wondrously fun/key!
How liquid magic came to wet our shared rock has mystified scientists since eggheads became a thing and started acting all scientific by doing science. A prevailing theory is that our entire oceanic volume was deposited via riding the coattails of comets/asteroids. Uh, really? We got approximately 326,000,000,000,000,000,000 gallons of water thanks to a massive flurry of impossibly well-aimed, fortuitous interstellar relocation? I don’t buy it.
(Neither do I.)
Too, neither should you.
Know what makes more sense? Earth manufactured Her own water, only not in the form that flows.
Special.
Stay with us here.
How’d Mama E ensnare the faithful satellite with which she’s been fighting/dancing/screwing for a cool four billion years or so? Why, a collision, of course! How else? Two celestial bodies met powerfully in a glancing, grinding blow, knocking the Ice Queen now known as Earth {up} into the green band of color, thawing Her frozen oceans, and effectively precipitating the creation of the moon and Mars.
Infinitely physical.
Apparent recipe for a beautifully miraculous disaster: knock an icy blue planet into the Goldilocks Zone, give it an anchor, and then hold on for dear life.
TNT
(And don’t forget the carbon!)
In other words, One Thing bumped into Thing Two, resulting in the (re)formations of Mars, Earth and Her precious moon.
Occasionally, you see, matter must recombine in order to evolve.
An atomic ladder (of anatomy), if you will.
See what your brain did there?
Oh, hey, speaking of harmonious partnerships, the yin-yang symbol represents balance in the universe between the ever-battling sexes.
Balanced.
The dark side of the symbol (yin) is considered feminine, passive, negative, and covert in nature.
The light half (yang) is considered masculine, active, positive, and overt in nature.
Those points line up with my own understanding of nature; having said that, there is one set of associations assigned by ancient Chinese philosophy that I do think know are wrong: the assertion that the moon embodies yin.
This is inaccurate. The moon’s pattern is not female. Earth should replace Her sole satellite in the chart. The sun and the moon are both light-natured (for similarly different reasons).
The sun is obviously the supreme source of light (and gravity) in our solar system.
The moon behaves like light in (the sense) that it wants to fly off into interstellar space, but it can’t (and will never) escape the earth’s Her gravity.
Our lone, orbiting shield has been trying to leave its planet since becoming eternally entangled. Silly rock. After all, they were made for each other—a relationship that exemplifies monogamy. Quite like the duo of energizing cores in this tangoing twosome, our like-minded wills are made of iron, too. In other words, deep down, we’re (all) the same.
Mother Earth’s magnetic pull on her beau keeps him grounded, while his daily draw [think “tides”] wets her land. I know exactly what you’ll be thinking in a handful of seconds:
What a couple crazy balls of important elements, the earth and the moon, what with their age-old reproductive cycle and shit!
See, in order to evolve, matter must recombine.
Very slowly, a handful of centimeters per year, the moon drifts away from the earth and will continue to do so until, in about 5 billion years, the sun becomes a red giant and swiftly annihilates the innermost planets in our solar system.
An emotional scale of sorts.
And, in all this, balance is key.
Our universe has been (re)telling the same story over and over since the godlike spark that jump-started freaky spacetime and gave birth/rise to freedom. Round and round we go, playing merrily and fighting horribly in a sandbox of infinite possibility (as governed by the natural laws of physics, of course). Reduce everything to nothing and the ultimate balancing act emerges: we need energy (in order) to resist gravity—the existential tightrope that either implants fear or inspires courage. One is negative, the other is positive. One thing opposes other stuff. That’s all, folks. In a nutshell, that’s literally everything.
But what about "anything"?
Well, that’s different. (Thanks for asking!) “Anything” is what could happen (over an uninterrupted course) in time. Time is what always happens when light meets matter. Time allows atoms to spring liberally and form freely in space. Time moves forward (to the right). Put another way, being right ain’t wrong.
Oh, speaking of the broken economy fueling bipartisan politics, have you ever pondered why democrats occupy the left side and republicans stick to the right?
Wait, does that mean republicans are "correct"!?
Not exactly.
Don’t get in a tizzy. You’re okay.
Each side of any scale is fundamental to finding balance in the center {a.k.a. the middle/common ground}. Along those lines, and in order to serve its essential function, which way must either side push?
To facilitate progression, the left side must move (forward) with time [to the right].
To stabilize pace, the right side must conserve progress by pushing back(ward) {to the left}.
Conserve progression. Progress conservation.
Left. Right.
Gravity. Energy.
Water. Fire.
In other words, each side of a scale must strive to centralize communal location; or else, balance becomes impossible.
Remain calm. This isn’t a jab at anyone’s tribal party. This is basic math.
Whether you’ve pledged allegiance to the GOP or the DNC, you’re a functioning cog in the system which has maintained the balance that allowed the USA to become the mightiest empire in the history of civilization.
But {sh}it’s gotten outta hand, wouldn’t you say? Each side has strayed too far from its center of mass. One side must “betray” the other. Both parties have to gravitate back toward the middle [equality] before the scale tips beyond the breaking point and falls off the fucking table.
Then what?
Time. Equals. Currency.
Speaking of matter, overall in school systems today, is the classic trio of “solid, liquid, gas” still being stressed? Wait, surely you’ve heard that before, right? Of course you have. Great. Glad it stuck. However, I’m afraid {that, like the tragically inaccurate term black hole,} it has been misleading as hell.
[Hell is so cold that it burns, by the way.]
Plasma is the curiously lesser-known fourth form of matter, and it only comprises, oh, about 99.9% of the observable universe.
Say what??
Out with the old already, gang. In with the other thing.
Oh, hi, speaking of plasma and time, if money represents the lifeblood of civilization, then guess what our currency has been doing since its advent and assimilation into society. Clotting.
Guess what happens when your blood clots. No, don’t guess; instead, know.
“Wealth” simply must be more evenly (re)distributed. Exactly like blood, money has to circulate. Fuck your opinionated beliefs right now. Not even sorry. This is a matter of physics. Science is natural. Fight nature, get demolished. Going with the flow is the only way to maximize success.
We didn’t make these rules; quite rather, these rules were made forus.
To put it mildly, our world’s in a pickle. Being completely selfish gets nobody anywhere and/or everyone nowhere; that is to say, just as gravity drains, greed sucks. Luckily, though, history reveals patterns that repeat, and lessons yearn for learning. If we don’t come together and reconfigure our philosophical, economic, political, infrastructural, agricultural approaches—all the goddamned approaches—in a single, overarching, unified manner that promotes the widespread health of our earthborn bodies*, then, ashes to ashes, we all fall down (off the wall {like Humpty Dumpty}).
We, people. All of us (Earthlings). We come from the same place in time and space. We harness energy. We defy gravity. We are light. We’re one! Only together may/can we win.
Now let us be so that we may go. Makes sense, no?
Yes, let’s go be (by doing good deeds).
Indeed, we will (be cause).
What we willdoes become.
(You should) really be while being real.
*Examples of bodies include the planet by which we exist, the waters from which we drink, the land upon which we grow, the enterprises for which we work, the organizations through which we play, and the individual vessels in which we live.
💧
One way or another, all celestial objects must cease to exist. Lucky for us, thoughts aren’t exactly objects! Hmm, do you think this means the key to immortality is learning how to digitize consciousness? Chill. It’s not even that far out. Anyway, what about you? I’ve learned a few things about you. This is you in a nutshell. You are living to feel as much as you are feeling to live. In other words, you are “doing” to be. In other words, you are “going” to die. That’s why you can’t help but to screw around sometimes. Every single physical “body” must die. All we really need to find is comfort along the way, just enough to keep us on your feet and content, and so that every day you may hope for a miracle, which always seems to be just beyond my grasp. Today, things are different. Today I can’t feel life sucking. Something changed last night. This time, I just know it. You figured it out. We need help. I guess this means you’re glad we’re still not elsewhere. I feel like a prisoner of my own manic mind, a lightning rod of abstractly depressive thought, haunted by words I can’t always remember envisioning and based on ideas I only vaguely recall scribing, usually fueled by an altered mental state. In early 2018, I was surfing the internet on my last trusty laptop (super crocked like right now as I’m typing in my old favorite Courier font on the right-yet-wrong side of the screen) while watching any number of early nineties sci-fi movies. [If you’re reading this now in another font, pretend it’s what it once was.] Courier also signifies a tidal wave of childlike energy. Plus, couriers deliver lest they become something else. In other words, liberties get taken. Must we self-sabotage? There’s a reason we see a bright light when we die. These are our bodies, people; but, all together now, we would be faster than light. What are we waiting for? Words are funny with all their interesting sounds and multiple meanings. Words such as these. The ones on this page as well as many that precede and succeed. These words burst forth outta nowhere, exploding and pouring out with ridiculous speed in streams of thought on par with an excited volcanic caldera’s expulsion. Apparently churning out 30,000 words in 8 days is no problem at all. My thoughts do not ask for my permission, nor do they beg for my pardon. This is beyond my control. Like an out-of-body experience. As if someone else’s mind wants to hijack my body. Being sober isn’t fun. But, whatever. Nothing I can do about that now. This snowball’s already rollin’ and I have no clue how to stop it. I don’t know if I’m well. In other words, I think I might be messed up in the head. My efforts feel like a desperate Hail Mary as time expires. I wanna to know if I’m nuts. I need to know what I am. We need to know what you are, too. In other words, these texts may achieve the highest recognition in the celebrated history of popular art. Satirical sarcasm morphs into a metaphorical blanket of universal truth. We, at this moment, together, could be absorbing the pinnacle of sentient thought. In other words, math eventually does itself. In other words, stranger things have happened. This could also be a nonsensical collection of ravings by a sad lunatic vanishing into the mythical ether, which is probably the worst bet, if you’re betting safely. Sounds ridiculous by now. Either way, this is our swan song. I have no idea what to do with ourselves, and evidently that means you’re trying to save the friggin’ world. Hold my beer, Big Bang. I can’t believe how serious we are. Don’t bother praying for me. In other words, I’m not the one who needs to get lucky. In other words, my life will be in your hands. In other words, my death is on you. In other words, just kill me now! I’m kidding. Please don’t kill. In other words, will you keep us alive? When something goes away, it only stops after enacted upon by the force of nature. In other words, that which flies can’t fall on its own. In other words, if something shall not rise from ashes, then fire, it may be not. This could lower the bridge that leads to our global anthem. This could be a clever psychotic break from reality. This could be a dreamer’s plea for salvation. This could be an imaginary attempt to evade damnation. This could be The Declaration of Life. This could be somebody’s eventual suicide note. In other words, this could all be up to you. Wanna know the secret to losing your mind? Don’t fear the unknown. Embrace the madness. Exhale during the fall. And definitely do look down. You need to see where we’re headed. Feet first.
