And the day started with limp thoughts.
Vapid, empty, thankless thoughts.
As if a universe of sparkling wonder ever cared a whit for one egotistical but self-loathing thought of a man.
Two things were said.
Sacrilege perhaps to the wisdom of the depths beyond.
Insult to the wonders that show up for you every damned day.
The things you miss – one damned thing after another that you notice – but oh the things you miss.
The ungrateful, hopeless cur that you are.
It happened.
This right after the two thoughts.
Maybe there’s an intelligence after all.
Maybe some coordination of love.
But back to the first thought:
Something about the utter futility of paints on canvas.
On the absurd reaching that artwork does.
Without ego – lovely.
With – pure dreck.
Then the next thought – a heresy of sorts.
Comparing the insignificance of art to the insignificance of the stars.
Dots of light on a blackness.
“Who cares,” you said inside that useless skull, “if a clever man deems that grouping Orion and that nearby pattern his shield?”
You looked away.
Then on cue, as if there were some cleverness here.
As if there was playfulness to all of this.
And this was no camp out star gazing with sore neck.
This was a furtive glance back at Orion.
A thankless turn of the chin upwards one more time.
A bright scratch of a shooting star fired from right to left in the spot your quick sight settled on.
Time and your eyes coordinated a quotidian event.
New life to a fading planet of man.
