the science

the science was a whisper
held against it
up against the
wall the
kiss

potion

dyscolored
in the foamy froth
so recently drained
boiled off

the scientists stand
fatigued
admiring

language lost
in a crowd of
the avowed

Review: Ideas And Opinions

Ideas And Opinions by Albert Einstein
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Einstein's own words, what could be better? Some scientists struggle to bring their ideas to the general public, and many scientists require you to have a working knowledge of biology, chemistry and physics to translate their writings. I was thrilled when I discovered this book and the easy way he writes about his life and theory. He was to science what Carl Jung was to psychology... both of them visionary, both humble. They both took the time to decodify their fields for us. Kinda like Bodhisattvas. Committed to the attainment of enlightenment for the benefit of others.

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LOVE POTION #K

love potion no. K

I was in the laboratory, minding my own business and yours, when all of a sudden that eureka moment came hurtling from space to earth, half-burning up in its double wide flavor, five-lane atmosphere pressure pull. I pounced immediately upon it, before it could scurry away into the recesses of some famous French cave, whose drawings of stick figure animals shall be preserved to the end of human time only. I cupped my mind around it like a cat claw trap upon a squeakmouse.

A large question mark took form in a gasping vexation of breath out my pores. My entire organism shook. This created just enough room for the object, not yet become subject (or subjected to my personal universe of great darkness and fragmented light), to slide into a crack, in the unwaxed and unpolished (and rather rough from wear) mahogany floor, which had suffered the weight of me for one too many months in this place, my self-described laboratory. All I felt (other than insatiably unanswered in pursuit of my less than scientific inquiry) was an increase in space beneath my mental tendrils, which were left groping about like a suddenly blind sea anemona in atrophic waters, abandoned for good by an ungrateful school of single file clown fish with genetically mutated pioneering tendencies.

My object, my dear sweet eureka, escaped my grasp! No! I cried, reducing my own equation to expletive tears.I dropped to my knees, then fell to the floor and my whole body collapsed like a dying star.

Then, after a few horrendous moments of breathless wonder, something magnificent happened! That which I had been pulling and pushing and groping and gnashing my teeth to capture and consume, with the bully gravitas of a desperate Putin in Ukraine, suddenly unfolded itself to my surrendered spirit, like the most beautiful of flowers set free in the sun! Love potion no. two thousand, seven hundred, sixty two (dot) infinity.

love potion no. two thousand seven hundred sixty two dot infinity

I was in the laboratory, minding my own business and yours, when all of a sudden that eureka moment came hurtling from my mind to earth, half-burning up in its double wide flavor, five-lane atmosphere pressure pull. I pounced immediately upon it, before it could scurry away into the recesses of some famous French cave whose drawings of stick figure animals shall be preserved to the end of human time only. I cupped my mind around it like a cat claw trap upon a squeakmouse.

At this point in time, the object which I was efforting to make subject and otherwise swallow whole into my personal shadow and light universe, made itself partially known to me. Thinking (yes, with a mind of its own) I might actually set it free by so doing. Clearly its thinker was broken! All the better for my predatory success.

In my mind's ledger, I jotted down the new revelation, and got this far.... love potion no. two thousand something....damn! Je ne sais quoi (I know not what).

A large question mark took form in a gasping vexation of breath out my pores. My entire organism shook. This created just enough room for the object, not yet become subject or subjected to my personal universe of great darkness and fragmented light, to slide into a crack in the unwaxed and unpolished (and rather rough from wear) mahogany floors which had suffered the weight of me for one too many months in this place, my self-described laboratory. All I felt (other than insatiably unanswered in pursuit of my less than scientific inquiry) was an increase in space beneath my mental tendrils, which were left groping about like a suddenly blind sea anemona in atrophic waters, abandoned for good by an ungrateful school of single file clown fish with genetically mutated pioneering tendencies.

My object, my dear sweet eureka, escaped my grasp!
Fuck no! I cried, reducing my own equation to expletive tears.
I dropped to my knees, then fell to the floor and my whole body just collapsed like a dying star right there in my personal petrie dish microcosm.

Then, after a few horrendous moments of breathless wonder...something magnificent happened! That which I had been pulling and pushing and groping and gnashing my teeth to capture and consume with the bully gravitas of a desperate Putin in Ukraine... suddenly unfolded itself to my surrendered spirit, like the most beautiful of flowers set free in the sun!

Love potion no. two thousand
seven hundred
sixty two
(dot)
infinity

Rolling Allostasis -x)

And so goes the common revolutionary narrative. The opposition carried untold numbers. She took nothing more serious. Scrutiny was their middle name. Some of her prophecies just blew their mind. They shook their fists at times, and threatened great violence. Some of which was carried out in a spectacular show of untold force. They bombed our back yards. Our victory gardens, hung defeated. Falling premature off the vine. Hard and without fruit, the trees scorched the air with barren branches. Many of us looked up just so, and cursed the divine. We became tired. We tried to let some of it go. We let down our guard of which had not yet already been demolished, and awaited some sign. Suffering before the dawn of our eloquently stated, much anticipated, emancipation from any and all relative life support. Only She would let us breathe free again. Like chantix in the blood, but better. She was like willpower, but better. She was like a freeway seam, stitching a patchwork of concrete and farmed family squares, to the wilderness of her personal (collectively scorned) dream. Speaking truth to power would be no bed of roses, though she would not force us to do anything. She modelled her style. We got to witness it, if we only showed up. Her runway was  gigantic like the Pixies : a big, big love. She taught us we could make it, before we even knew what we were making. We received her message via newswire.

Maybe half of us subscribed. The other half unsubscribed. Half of the latter half prayed for strength to endure the former half. The better half. The better half of the half in prayer, became lost. Half of the lost became found. Half of the found, found themselves. The rest were relegated to the lost and found. Half of those who found themselves, experienced an awakening. The other half fell asleep. Half of those awakened experienced enlightenment. The other half freaked out. Half of the enlightened set with the sun. The other half were engulfed by darkness. Half of those who cast shadows, stood seven feet tall. The rest turned into tumbleweeds and tumbled down the hall. Half of those who stood seven feet tall, grew egos ten feet long. The other half checked their egos. Half the ones whose egos became checked, knew that they were wrong. The other half took swan dives whilst singing swan songs. Half of the swan songs auditioned for the Voice. The other took a dive in ratings, because they had no choice. Half of those auditioning, were booed right off the show. The other half went on to notoriety in small suburban towns. Half of those who lost their fame before it came, turned into phoenix out of ash, and rose up from the flames. Half of those who underwent the alchemy, now undertook great hardship. The other half flew south for summer. The ones still there, you could almost count, while lying in bed awake. They were not sheep. They were not dead. They were characterized in universal press, as having five to fifty heads.