Jay Nichols's Blog - Posts Tagged "apocalypse"
Life in 2012
Life in 2012
By: Jay Nichols
Who wants to see the fruits of their labors
go rotting on the vine,
or drift away into aethers
believing they’re less than divine?
Third eye opens . . .
to let a little light in.
So may the losers dream
and the dreamers win.
What harm would it do
to cry a million tears,
lose a trillion bucks,
erase a couple years,
hold out hope that
at any cost
everything you own
will never again be lost?
How hard is it to shut up
and go with the flow,
never speak your mind,
never rock any boats,
look straight ahead
and never blink,
stare through cell phone screens
and forget how to think?
Why does it seem like the sun
is getting bigger every day,
true north is slipping degrees,
the bees are going away?
A hypochondriac would claim
it was something the world ate,
while a lunatic would shout:
Repent now! It’s not too late!
When will the scholars give up
and admit nothing is even here,
that truth is a malleable thing,
and so is fear,
that pure expression doesn’t
necessarily have to make any sense?
Put me in a room full of scientists and dullards,
and I swear I wouldn’t know the difference.
Take the inverse of a dying paradigm and shake it until the screws tinkle out, inappropriate laughter at the thought; timeless caresses of a brave new infinity that tumble over and over: waves at the beach—quicksand, garbled speech. Unpopular brands. Bare feet. Snappy responses to queries asked by no one but had to be uttered nonetheless. Impromptu excess. Wasted hours spent in lecture halls, sliding down in seats, staying awake… but only barely. An overconfidence in chemical equations—chain reaction, provocation. The isolated inertia of a species with nowhere else to go. Escape artists running down alleys in black and white—scissoring legs, stage fright. Conmen selling fallout shelters door-to-door, exoskeletons of humans living in sewers. Limelight. Vertigo. A ragtag didgeridoo band in need of a drummer. A Cyclops born without hands. Nuclear fission lighting the world. Comet insurance, major bummer. Inciting riots for body heat. Hanging effigies in the street. Maybe learning a bit about ourselves—shock! The horror! Life in 2012
By: Jay Nichols
Who wants to see the fruits of their labors
go rotting on the vine,
or drift away into aethers
believing they’re less than divine?
Third eye opens . . .
to let a little light in.
So may the losers dream
and the dreamers win.
What harm would it do
to cry a million tears,
lose a trillion bucks,
erase a couple years,
hold out hope that
at any cost
everything you own
will never again be lost?
How hard is it to shut up
and go with the flow,
never speak your mind,
never rock any boats,
look straight ahead
and never blink,
stare through cell phone screens
and forget how to think?
Why does it seem like the sun
is getting bigger every day,
true north is slipping degrees,
the bees are going away?
A hypochondriac would claim
it was something the world ate,
while a lunatic would shout:
Repent now! It’s not too late!
When will the scholars give up
and admit nothing is even here,
that truth is a malleable thing,
and so is fear,
that pure expression doesn’t
necessarily have to make any sense?
Put me in a room full of scientists and dullards,
and I swear I wouldn’t know the difference.
Take the inverse of a dying paradigm and shake it until the screws tinkle out, inappropriate laughter at the thought; timeless caresses of a brave new infinity that tumble over and over: waves at the beach—quicksand, garbled speech. Unpopular brands. Bare feet. Snappy responses to queries asked by no one but had to be uttered nonetheless. Impromptu excess. Wasted hours spent in lecture halls, sliding down in seats, staying awake… but only barely. An overconfidence in chemical equations—chain reaction, provocation. The isolated inertia of a species with nowhere else to go. Escape artists running down alleys in black and white—scissoring legs, stage fright. Conmen selling fallout shelters door-to-door, exoskeletons of humans living in sewers. Limelight. Vertigo. A ragtag didgeridoo band in need of a drummer. A Cyclops born without hands. Nuclear fission lighting the world. Comet insurance, major bummer. Inciting riots for body heat. Hanging effigies in the street. Maybe learning a bit about ourselves—shock! The horror! Life in 2012
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Of course, the shower is the safe bet.
And the backyard garden hose is an exhilarating alternative.
Then there's that Third Eye Blind 1997 World Tour shirt collecting dust in the back of your closet . . . okay, I'll admit it, a more fitting end for that shirt cannot be imagined by this author.
And, finally, there's . . . drumroll, please . . . Canis Major, by Jay Nichols!
Yes, for $22.99, you get 587 pages, or 293 sheets, of high-test American paper! Delivered right to your home!
Or, if you'd rather read the story printed on the paper, a free kindle version is available at the link below.
https://www.amazon.com/Canis-Major-Ja...
