Taken on April 20, 2018 in Kathmandu.
Rails of sanity. Rails of convention. People find it scary, being afloat on endless seas.They long for rails, and the further out the tracks are laid, the easier they rest.
teary for the lunatic
who ventured off the rails
sitting in a open sea
adrift, not hoisting sails
worry not for me, my friend
horse latitudes are past
when the drifting day is done
i can always raise the mast
“I remember being born.”
“No. You don’t.”
“How would you know?”
“Well, let’s start from the assumption that you’re human…”
“I’d like to think so, but what are my options?”
“I don’t know. Humans don’t have that neural machinery at birth… So nothing from Earth remembers its birth.”
“And yet, I do.”
“Mightn’t you have cobbled together the scene from your mom’s stories, the family photo album, et cetera?”
“Nah! It’s too detailed. Feels too real.”
“I find your ignorance exhausting.”
“I find your certainty perplexing — not to mention irritating and slap-worthy.”
“Let’s agree to be mutually disenchanted.”
Oh, take me on a learning spree.
Explain the nature of reality.
Am I living in a simulation?
Perhaps, dumb luck is the world’s foundation.
Does life have meaning, or must I make one?
Should I live for love, or live for fun?
Should I consecrate or desecrate?
Do I live by chance or live by fate?
The answers, they grow no nearer.
Am I the heard or the hearer?
If I received such a knowledge bearer,
would I awake in bliss or in terror?
no diesel beast growls
quite like a deuce and half
laboring, lumbering, up a hill
it pops out a machine gun cadence
if a machine gun had to gasp now and again
gasp timed to gear grinding
then there is the chatter of the flap
that tinks upon the exhaust stack
beating out an unlovable rhythm
it smells like tarp, oily and musty
it feels like wood bench slats
that flex only with the most jarring bounce
but not enough to spare a kidney
helmets slop around on skulls
it’s a long drop when that creaky tailgate opens
who knows where?