When I think of Newgrange, I don’t think of a tomb. I imagine a million photons, having escaped their atomic containment in the core of the Sun, arriving on Earth to fuck with us.
I took the cough medicine, the marajuana and the Hennesey then got onto the electric scooter, to go gambling. There is no greenway from here to the City, so I took my life into my hands and dressed like a Christmas tree in Times Square sponsored by a night bicycling company, I did not get run over, so I ate some more, acquiring a quarter pounder with bacon extra on the headford road McDonnel’s drive through
And then I self destruct, and like a suicide bomber, bring eveything around me Auschwitz me
I remember the pulse of your beating heart
With my head by your breast
Our hearts switched on simultaneously
27 days after our parents conceived us
We had infinite potential to love
And my unreasonable autonomy, gambled it all and more, for more
I prefer a moment of peace and I want it now
To a house in the burbs and responsibilities, and schedules
Good morning, here’s some flowers from my morning walk, with the dog, along the river bank
Stay in bed,
Here’s some flowers, green white and orange in my Galway Crystal whiskey tumbler I picked up in Keoghs
I pretended to be interested, in her story and I kind of was, although distracted in my head, other places, other scenes were all around me.
She told me about Texas radio and the tour to CERN with her daughter,
where the subterranean cosmology brought forward and established the Internet, nevermind the gravity of Arpanet. Arguably the Abacus was the birthplace of the Internet.
Particles are the shadow of wave interactions, interception points, time stamps, in rapid motion, manifesting into consciousness in the body of a mammal with memory, and memory of having memory, in their imagination.
If you were to ask a photon; When did the big bang happen?
They’d say, just now, in the forever instant
Whereas 13 or 14 billion years is the answer from the perspective of human perception.
A Swedish playwright maybe Strindberg
Told his editors, take it all out, take as much out as you like, cut me down to a perfection, a minimalist piece of density, in comparison to the long screed I forever send
Kafka on his deathbed, during one of the forever instants of the Infinite, told his friend to burn everything I’ve written. I’m presuming they did not comply.
Oh great creator of being
Give me one more hour, to argue on X and bring starlink internet to the Sentinelese people
Seeking a friend for the end of the world
Where Keira Knightly from King Arthur shares the stage with Michael Scott from the American The Office
An assassin kills their driver, during a dog pee stop.
Excuse me, I smell weed and Bitcoin
When the asteroid hits, their hearts will simultaneously cease being.
ashes to ashes
Trees, as big as Sequias
From seeds as little as an ovum
The Orgasm distorts time
And we are born again
An hour and nine in, she talks about records.
We had a record player
And I found Waterloo Sunset among my parents' collection
It’s a nice song about Terry and Julie
And Napoleon
