We the Civilized

We benefit, so we the Civilized opine, from an innate

propensity for density, as we incline it seems inevitably

from the innocence of infancy to entering the intimate

immensities of later life: the tangled thoroughfares

of complicated love, and omnisexual perversity: thought

immersed in irony and paradox and dissonance, brought

to encounter the impenetrable obfuscations in more

serious investigations of, well, anything. We seem to think

that clarity in innocence is largely lies believed in ignorance.

And that painfully attaining incremental revelations through

essential rites of passage (which mainly mean humiliations)

from and of and with relations, amorous, professional

and otherwise, can lead us to a wiser clarity at last: a clarity

as vast as the complexities of Cosmos but transparent –

indeed, apparently osmotically available to the Enlightened.

No wonder we’re so frightened. But pretty funny, honey.

In fact, hilarious – indeed, nefarious. It amounts to this:

We invent and then ferment what we believe, then we

imbibe it: we’re drinking our own piss. Therefore, of course,

we tend not to get fat. There’s something to be said for that.

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