Exercises In Futility
Exercises in futility
There are matters of faith and matters of science. I wrote a term paper with a friend a long time ago about the intersection between the two. We wrestled with it for days, and we both agreed that the two are not mutually exclusive -- or was it inclusive -- that’s the problem; it’s not exactly what any message conveys; it’s what is conveyed and at what time. If there’s too much input, then the output is changed. Another friend would say that this is reflective in the mentally ill; too much stimuli for one person can produce futility and confusion; to another it is a breeding ground for creativity.
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When you’re a poor kid, you have to make some compromises to get ahead. So, I try to remember the tale about the hare and the turtle. I think we all know how that story goes.
I remember that stuffy room above the gym. We danced with a pregnant lady and bantered about things that ring strangely true today. I remember cramming in reading assignments in the hall and all of us arguing about the value of meat and potatoes. I miss those days and yet I don’t think I’d want to go back to them except in a dream. Or maybe all of it was a dream ...
Posting this on behalf of my father, who is just dumb. #rstales
Dear future spouse,
I cradle every word as I write it; I don’t want to let you down in any way, but time is not on our side tonight and so I must say what I’ve longed to say as long as my memory holds. You are the craftswoman that captured my heart when my head wasn’t working the way it used to. Your voice calls out to me when I lie still at night. My breath is altered with every syllable that rolls off your tongue. I cling to your every word and wonder if you feel the same emptiness I feel when I’m alone.
I’d like to hold you in my arms tonight, and if I had a saxophone, I’d play it for you, although I suspect I’d quickly realize I can’t impress you with a sax in the way I’d want to — in a perfect way.
You know my bumps in life and roll over them neatly.
I listen over and over to your fellowship until I realize who the fool really is. (Hint: It’s me, for the record.)
And I know that I’ve fallen hard and just want to ask one question…
Despite what you may have heard, I’m alive but not kickin’ right now.
Do your parents ever …?
Suggest that you find a date via the Internet and then insist that you’re being catfished if you find a matching personality?
