Friday, April 27, 2012

I salute you, Whale.

I have come to the conclusion 

that an absurdist is just a literalist 
who is committed to his art. 
He sees the world as it is
without the pretense of metaphor or hyperbole. 
He doesn’t see the idealism 
that people wish of it--the thing 
that strangles the potential of the planet 
like a murderer with a pair of pantyhose:
silently, and with very little bruising.
Oh the world is not dead--it is simply asleep.
Until the literalist wakes it up suddenly,
in rapid descent like a whale plunging through the atmosphere;
large, friendly and painfully, beautifully self-aware.

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