life’s too short (but it’s enough)

life's too short
but it's fulfilling enough
like getting lost in your mind
while your feet sit buried in the sandbox
in the backyard,
the thought of flying away on a turtle
because you learned turtles hatch from eggs
in the sand was somehow magical
so you wonder why
the sandbox now has beetles and holes and millipedes...

life's too short
but it's meaningful enough
to know that you can suffer the saddest sad
a blue-soaked towel sagging under heavy eyes
stealing heat from your armpits and ribs
that you can turn around, fill with sand
and shape into
statues and castles and bridges away from here,
collapsing as you step off,
feet on new land

life's too short
because snowflakes, dance recitals, and moons
don't last nearly long enough,
and christmas only happens once a year,
but even as the snail leaves its shell
after it is gone,
you can still hold the ocean to your ear.

how do you make your art

how do you write your poetry
do you dig inside of you and find
that darkness waiting, gasping to see air
carve a hole, an escape hatch, pave a long smooth tunnel
from your darkest centre to expose one by one the beams of daylight?
do you trace the red drip dripping footstepps, fresh
with deathsmell –no that is still a living scent, (but barely)
stalk the wounded mystical beast to exhausted ends:
do you make art with her bones? waste nothing of this body
and give your eyes the colours of each thread, hair,
shape and paint yourself in the rituals of an ancient nature.
is your art a gift of beauty to this world who
speaks out hatred, anger, tears or is your art
the mine of a wordsmith treasure boxed in traditions
no longer here, wearing away in the parched paper of books
centuries closed. do you create your art amongst a flowing
river put together broken ends and means and beginnings to
stay afloat and when drifted into the calm ocean look down into the
crystal blue lens all combinations of colour and creed or
do you dive into it, the great deep majestic, and
look around amazingly, sink slowly to the bottom.

in the mood for a new perspective

It seems that everybody wants an invention: a flying car, a jetpack, a virtual reality. What happened to creation? Or is this an extension of creation? I’m not satisfied.

If flying cars really existed they would not give us the freedom to go wherever we please but limit it. Traffic on the ground is already difficult to manage going horizontally and given a vertical axis would require more regulation than less. Instead of sharing 6 lanes across, you’d share scores of cars all around you.

If jetpacks existed (no doubt that would be really cool) being smaller than cars would probably be just as limited. A jetpack would require very delicate controls to avoid hitting something. Plus, it gets really cold up in the atmosphere.

I guess my contention is not with technology, but with imagination — that we imagine the future based as an extension of technology, and evolution as something always beneficial.

I crave real imagination. I want to hear the ideas of people that think we will walk on clouds or grow tails. I want to listen to wild fantasies of magic potions and hatter’s gone mad.

I want to spend the day in Kindergarten. That’s living in the future.