Momentum Makes Me Hard and Hateful

 

As he approaches the fire, his eyes light up, his smile swells, his spirit rises, his dinner cooks. As he gets closer, it gets better – hotter, lighter, bigger, higher, juicier. And as he enters into the fire, he burns to death – dry, crumbled, down, heavy, ashy, finally cold.


“I’m itchy,” the pendulum swings, not stopping or even noticing the bump as it rolls past it.

“Scratch here,” it thinks, scratching around and about and everywhere but.

“Still itchy,” the pendulum swings, to reflect its opposite, instead of meeting in the middle.

“Push me! Push me!” the pendulum squeals with zeal and laughter, like a child being given an under-duck by an older friend, both forgetting the world for each other.


The pink-haired angry feminist is able to sidestep the pendulum and hang out in the middle. As can any straight white suit. Can you? Or will defensive tribal clear-cuts trump a sustainable, logical, equitable stillness? I mean, of course it will, but can’t we at least hang close to the itch, without getting fired?


Fri. Nov 11th (2016) – Edmonton