This Planet of Ours

Will the Sun explode before the Moon crashes back into the Earth?

This is a question that concerns me. I have glanced back at the whole of humanity and with a blink I've looked at our present, which has summoned severe and drastic questions about our future. And about these futuristic questions I am compelled to wonder how this planet of ours will end. Will it end like a roller coaster or like a dying roller coaster-- mid-stream, with so many thrills and and lungs yet to be unsatisfied, just another orbit of blood-filled heads and regretfull ticket-purchasers... or in a moment of screams and chuckles and camera captures?

why do I ponder such awful dilemmas when the moments that matter are tears of dreams achieved and dreams missed? How many hopes have been born and died amongst pillow drool?

I do not think it is fair to claim for myself the rightful awareness of an amateur philosopher... although I have seen dirty fingernails. I've seen blown-out tires. I've seen worn-out mailboxes. I've seen the dimples of nervous women and the thigh-related wrinkles of lust. I've swam in toxic streams and crossed clean rivers. I'm a water bug on the currents of life. I'm an insect with a conscience. I'm a feather in the wind with a shadow and a past.

I have learned to conflate philosophy with wisdom. I'm a thinker and a fortune-cookie reader. Both are umbrellas that merely serve to help the smart among us keep their shoulders clean of pigeon shit.

Is there anything more metaphorical than bird shit from the sky? The answer is yes. Bird shit from the sky is merely an occurrence of nature, like pollen or mayflies or mardi gras or other forms of lust. It takes skill to speak in riddles but it takes balls to speak in truths.

Truth moment: I am flawed. Truth moment: my life is worth more than I can perceive. Truth moment: I have loved. Truth moment: I dream more of the happiness of others than I do of my own. Truth moment: We are all leaves and we all deserve our share of sunlight. Truth moment: I am chlorophyll.

This blog entry ends with the following thought: Life is a bad case of poison ivy on the skin of time. We itch for attention. We scratch for love. Our fingers seek both and often find neither...

The best among us are durable toothpicks. We are misdemeanors of time. We count clock-ticks and laugh while the rest hold their breath. Humans and reptiles are the original suckers...