Of Entropy and the Divide.

Every theological argument ends with my opponent telling me to “just have faith” or explaining that they’ll “pray for me.”

Politics? It never used to be like that.

Now, however, every political argument ends with my opponent explaining how “if you don’t like this country, then just leave,” or how I can’t even talk about this or that because I have a penis or Caucasian skin.

I have no party, it seems. I am an all-party pooper.

Reason? Discussion? Empathy? All of it is evidently out of style — left and right wing, red and blue. The divide has grown so wide, the chasm has stretched its yawn to such a degree that those on one end of the spectrum cannot even hear those on the other.

This, I think, is the entropy of civilization that George Carlin once spoke of.

Sometimes I wish I could stop paying attention.

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Driving Me Blindly.

Womb to tomb
descending through spacetime
direction fixed, weaving a wordline
in the free fall of causality
on my way

down from heights of order
to the tangled depths of entropy

to add to the mesh of roots
prepackaged,
vacuum-sealed in opaque plastic,
nonetheless clearly
well-woven in me,
driving me blindly.

Always falling,
eyes hypnotized
straight ahead, drifting up
now and again, just,
please,
never look down,
half fearing, half hoping
for ground that you might eventually
think you found in an impact
approximately six feet down

though you find the grave is bottomless
forever falling through all of this
in a style naively echoing every preceding
dead again, back to skin
round of shit.