The Sciences Sing a Lullaby - Albert Goldmsith

Physics says: go to sleep. Of course
you’re tired. Every atom in you
has been dancing the shimmy in silver shoes
nonstop from mitosis to now.
Quit tapping your feet. They’ll dance
inside themselves without you. Go to sleep.

Geology says: it will be all right. Slow inch
by inch America is giving itself
to the ocean. Go to sleep. Let darkness
lap at your sides. Give darkness an inch.
You aren’t alone. All of the continents used to be
one body. You aren’t alone. Go to sleep.

Astronomy says: the sun will rise tomorrow,
Zoology says: on rainbow-fish and lithe gazelle,
Psychology says: but first it has to be night, so
Biology says: the body-clocks are stopped all over town
and
History says: here are the blankets, layer on layer, down and down.

”

questions fluttering like sparrows
hop from branch to branch
spaces between silences
make the air sticky like soap from burst bubbles
the lights dim and get brighter
answers take flight like a cat's tail on fire
I have a bubblegum stuck on a shoe kind of mind today

Who is happier?

This question still puzzles me, many observations later - I am still nonplussed. Is it someone who sees life and the world as an intricate pattern full of symbolism and possibilities. Or is it someone who sees life as is - the plain, let us have fun and let us live it to its fullest without understanding any of it. Which of the above is happier? Which one is more content? Can you choose how you see the world and interpret it? 

Metaphor of the day

There were noisy, happy and chatty people in the café he was at; he wondered what makes people talk so much, as if they would turn to statues if they stayed silent. He wished it were like that.

 

Musing of the day

Writing can or never is impersonal. For me, I create with my own unique perception, my varied or limited experience, my gathered-over-the years biases, my pernickety preferences, seeing through my looking glass - in which the world reflects in its own special way. Writing to me is like weaving little pieces of your soul into every creation. It's like painting it with a colour that oozes only out of your skin. And finally displaying it to a world created out of your own perception.

Metaphor of the day

She watched the baby as it drifted off to a soundless sleep, as quiet as a whisper dying out. 

Mental Floss #70

Why is it that we get attached to certain people unknowingly - and they become the Velcro loops to our Velcro hooks?




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