Poems (Haikus, Sonnets, the works)

I've told my friends life is good in retrospect.
I'll elaborate, all in due time of course.

The power of irrational thought - sways, nudges, insanity - has been covered in a variety of texts (Sway, Nudge) and schools of thoughts (mental asylums).

In third person:

He chose a school that wasn't his first choice. Even when his first choice was a viable option. He chose to eat the last turkey leg even though it had been over ten seconds since his brain had first informed him his stomach was full. He continued playing that championship basketball game through the pain of his broken fingers (WORK THROUGH THE PAIN!).

He was a silly man. Human at best. Humans are such the best.

He's carried on with his puerile existence absorbing random facts and acts of kindness as he goes along. I've never ceased to be amazed at their capacity to connect tangent. These, um, humans, carry on in conversation for hours exploring a gamut of emotions and topics in the most perfect circular of fashions.

In the question of what came first, the chicken or the egg, the answer is that a circle has no beginning or end. Every one of us knows that. They've obviously yet to learn that.

And they carry on. And god how they write. It started out with the fastest and oldest of them scribbling away in dark, dimly lit quarters with flickering candles and the sound of matins being sung in the background. We learned that from Follet - his historical accounts, obviously fictional, were essential in providing us with understanding about the pillars of his kind.

Then it was a man. Or a woman? God how they enjoy confusing us. He wrote sonnets and stories of human nature in the shallow guise of drama or comedy. We enjoyed those thoroughly.

And then came a woman. They cover her in the movies now very often. They interpret her on stage, write adaptations of her work and even make films just about her. We'd seen this latter phenomenon before but never in this fashion. Not a documentary, a confusing account about the made up story of some potentially real situation in which they look up to her. We have decided, as a race that she wrote their manual on teasing and flirting. It's all about the teasing and not about the pleasing as some of their "ironic" tv shows put it.

Somehow this one kid enthralls me. Call him a kid, ha! A young adult playing at being bigger than himself. I understand his expressions and mannerisms. He drinks tea because he believes in waiting (learned that from the Germans). He writes out of frustration but he calls it creative inspiration. His family is small. Just him, his parents and his friends.

And he questions poetry. Or the form behind the poetry. And prose, or the ideas trapped within the prose. And yet he sits waiting.

--

Sometimes, just sometimes I take an out of body experience so see how things are really like.

It's usually scary.