Saddled with serendipity, afflicted with empathy, rippling with ready ripeness
And then the people made still even more Powerpoints and commented on each other’s failure to become
simple - direct - vibrant
in a long, undirected, and vituperative discussion on an
open Slack channel.
I felt like those star-crossed soldiers who fell
off the rope bridge into the river and then ripped to shreds by happy, basking crocodiles in the temple of doom movie
Conscripted in a role I hated, fated to a miserable senseless death after which no trace of me would be left.
Ok, it wasn’t that bad. Did you know Tom Stoppard touched up that script? For Spielberg? Or maybe the following one. I forget which.
Guess which is his:
Life is a gamble at terrible odds, if it were a bet, you would not take it.
Life in a box is better than no life at all, I expect. You'd have a chance at least. You could lie there thinking: Well, at least I'm not dead.
The bad end unhappily, the good unluckily. That is what tragedy means.
Ripeness is all.
Readiness is all.
Did you guess?
black magic removal of a man’s beating heart is a metonym for what sixteen-year old autodidacts in small towns think poetry’s function: a gender neutral truism.
