There is something in our solar system; they say it’s a big hidden planet. We only know it’s there because other planets react like it is. If only it were that simple.
They’re calling it Planet 9. I’m thinking: what the fuck is Pluto thinking?
Earth is rotating while spinning while tilting and every other celestial body is doing the same… we should bounce into each other more, but gravity keeps us in place; we’re all just rotating, spinning, and tilting uncontrollably, apart.
Inside, we’re doing the same. Windmills and wheels and wild women.
There was a homeless man on the street who asked for my change. I wanted to give him all my credit cards and the keys to my apartment and my friends and lovers. I didn’t have any change.
San Fransisco is changing. Los Angeles is changing. Deep space is changing. I have a kitten that is learning French. I have six tadpoles in a Dixie cup. I have the hands of a man made of oil.
The planets will continue their endless travels. We will continue to grow cats and frogs. Everything returns to the same place again. It’s our time around the sun, and our time around each other. Until it’s another’s.
The crushed sand in the glass of my watch lets me see the slow/quick slapping of time. That unseen current. Pulsing like the blood in my beating wrist where time is wrapped around.
Time and space and life and death. Pleasure and pain. It’s our gravity. It’s the detritus and flotsam of our existence.
Every moment you open up, though, you release its power. Every thought you let go of you become free. Every detachment leads to acceptance. Open up your heart and soul and you become a drop of water in that gentle river that carries us along, indefinitely.
See that star shooting against the mauve midnight sky? It’s a satellite. Watching us watch it. Let go of the words…