I have heard we are Stardust. Joni Mitchell and Carl Sagan were probably right. That means that one of my father’s atoms could be in this very room as I write, or could even be part of the iPad that I tap upon.
I hope I am alive when we get to Mars. I want to know what it is. What is there. What was there. I want the true strange story, not something cooked up by government or national or private interests. It’s still a baby step for us, but maybe a launching pad.
If you write poetry, don’t put it on Facebook. No matter how many friends you have, the silence is deafening.
If you have any mental or emotional issues, you seem to attract people of the same persuasion.
Animals are brighter than some of us give them credit for. At least my cat is.
I pay for massages mainly for human touch. And they are good for you. Too.
If you stay long enough in a bath hot enough, you’ll turn quite red, and your heart rate will go to about 200. Unless you are a person of colour. I mean, the redness part. Oh God, that was clumsy.
One reason I am still alive is that I have treated my sleep apnea by wearing a Darth Vader mask for the last ten years.
I have a secret crush which I have hinted at in one or two poems. She knows, but just thinks it’s cute.
I live in a climate where one day my nose froze shut and I had to breathe through my mouth. This hurts the teeth a lot.