Shut.

There’s a moment of darkness before lights,

Shining in blotchy patterns,

Glide back and forth,

across my unseeing vision.

Open.

I watch as the cars drift by,

At their lazy pace, their headlights on,

Going back and forth in the darkened skies

Of a stormy Sunday afternoon.

Shut.

A weak light in the corner of my vision,

Blinking in all it’s tiny glory,

A great light shines and white, floating, outlines,

Drift away into the darkness.

Open.

The broken streetlamp on the corner,

Blinks on and off, as yet another truck,

Honks through my lazy Sunday,

Rattling it’s eyes open.

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“Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go
To heal my heart and drown my woe
Rain may fall, and wind may blow
And many miles be still to go
But under a tall tree will I lie
And let the clouds go sailing by…”

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

A Story with No Moral

It’s all the same romance, with the lovers and cheaters always changed.

It’s all the same horror tale, with innocent faces blood-covered.

It’s a story of hilarity and insanity with the jokes and laughs of the deranged.

It’s just a tale of adventure repeated, with the same new things discovered.

“A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it. Fifteen hundred years ago everybody knew the Earth was the center of the universe. Five hundred years ago, everybody knew the Earth was flat, and fifteen minutes ago, you knew that humans were alone on this planet. Imagine what you’ll know tomorrow.”

Kay, Men in Black (1997)