Deck of Wild Cards

I find no hope in that this struggle is common

There is no closure in that knowledge, self-obtained

Something is prone to nothing, that is the genesis

The profundity of nothing is that it’s impossible

Nothing is the pipe dream if ever man had one

Something leads to something and so-on, cannot stop


Why the monsters are so shy is painfully evident

How their victims peak out of only one pigeonhole

and every good story is killed by their presences

How the aliens abduct us but only incredibles

why rubber stamping swamp gas carries more clout


Astronomy is honestly kind of damn boring, which is why

champagne supernovas in the sky are fun, which is why

Brad Pitt wins an Oscar for his role as Stephen Hawking

one day—can you not see it?—in the predictable future

I fucking love science like I fucking fear monsters

and by that, my better interest is to speak on neither


Tangents are fun going because distraction is pleasant

It’s nice to build confidence from blocks of incompetence

I like to pat my back for these sharp, sturdy fingernails

and scratching the face of anything beyond recognition

That helps me feel powerful, my command of observing

It helps me feel humble, my self-depreciating awareness

and helps me spring forward, my covering all bases


Lifestyles breed passes, so I find mine and use them

I know my shoes well and won’t let those be borrowed

Funny how, a trip to McDonalds shattered the universe

how the black swan I needed was his dislike of pickles

Tragic though to find solace in my life’s insignificance

Fortunate however that the tragedy, was being wrong

Columbi ägg, by Nils Dardel

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