The Coal Swamp Has Never Been Closer

i cannot complain. there is a roof over my head and there is food in my refrigerator. i have no need of a handgun. though i am no match for a Dienotherium in a fight, I do not have to fight one. Thus, no rifle either. No flamethrower. A couch would not fit up a stairway earlier. I should have measured it first. I hear they get stuck there forever, couches, blocking the inhabitants of the upper floors in their apartments forever. There was no back staircase. Had this been the case, somehow, the couch would not have gotten stuck. After all, what is the purpose of a back staircase besides simply being big enough to accommodate irregularly shaped couches, This brings me to the subject of my unrealized desire to rule the world through terror. I need to put a ten dollar bill in the g string of a stripper soon. A cold beer is not doing it. It is hard to explain this to my two-year-old best friend, who thrills me with questions like "who made up?", and can now recite my answer "Up is not real it is just an idea....". Is this how it is supposed to work? Do bluegills love their eggs this much? What does a reef squid feel during the throes of courtship? What of all those little eggs. It is a hundred degrees Farenheit, outside, with the humidity of a place where vast pools of water sit on the cement, failing to evaporate. The coal swamp has never been closer. So sad to imagine that during the middle of the Carboniferous, those global rainforests dried up and shrank to small islands of vegetation on tropical isles. Conifers spread and amphibians gave way to reptilians. What did a gorgonopsid feel for its young?

congratulations, universe, for your neutron stars

i lament the extinction of the kronosaur, and perhaps equally so, i regret that i have yet to wrestle with a giant squid. turns out that a kronosaur and a sperm whale would be a great match in a fight, though the latter being such an ecological specialist, it is not really as good in a fight as its size would lead a person to believe. we have not enough giant monsters, and none that shoot deadly radiation from their eyes. yes, we have a few amazing elasmobranchs left, and yes, at the smaller scales, we have better beasties that most planets this size, i reckon. it is hard to know what is usual around here, on this planet, orbiting this yellow sun. it is a rather impressive star, in its own way. larger than most, but hardly among the giants. it is more than four billion years old and it is burning very nicely at present. i also think we have good gas giants. again, nothing showy, like a planet ten times the size of jupiter gradually evaporating into its sun, but i like uranus and saturn, and i think that if we could see our own oort cloud, we would be happy with its pleasant configurations.
let me be among the first to congratulate the universe for its neutron stars, now that i am on the subject. in an infinite universe, i suppose, an infinite number of sentinent beings congratulate the universe at any given moment-but the observable universe is the only universe i know, and it contains just enough galaxies that other beings have congratulated it before, in distant galaxies, but perhaps not for its neutron stars.

ode to species with heterogametic sexes or deadly venom

space jellyfish. fucking space jellyfish. the ameba of doom. death reptiles. the echo at the end of it all. the absurdity of a finite universe. the inevitable paradoxes of an infinite universe populated by space amebas. electrical storms. homo erectus men going to sea in skin boats. ammonites. kronosaurs, cheap motels. lipstick. lighter fluid. dim memories. more lipstick.
i have been spacewrecked here before. on days like this, the fading summer sun falling through green ash, a city park full of homo sapiens lying on blankets, the pull of my chromosomes directing my actions. a slave to hidden, genetic appetites. kronosaurs. spaccemen. spiders. ergot. lipstick. strip clubs. night.

Who made death?

Ruby: Who made this car?
Me: Robots. It was made in a factory, south of here, mostly by robots but also by some human helpers.
Ruby: Who made my doll?
Me: People, in a factory, probably in Southeast Asia, made it.
Ruby: Who made shoes?
Me: Another factory.
Ruby: Who made feet?
Me: Nobody made them. They just grew there. When you were still inside mamma.
Ruby: Who made up?
Me: Up isn't real, it is just an idea. We made up. We can make up any direction we want,
Ruby: Who made Aweoweah?
Me: You made Aweoweah.
Ruby: Who made eyes?
Me: Evolution made them. But evolution is not a person, it is a thing that happens, like the weather.
Ruby: Who made owwies?
Me: Evolution.
Ruby: Who mead death?
Me: Evolution.
Ruby: Who made my doll?

It goes on like this for hours. I am so damned proud of you, Ruby.

Listening to Metal

the frozen north. a sword and black armour. lightning. a moonlit night. werewolves. a winter gale. ice floes. blood. axes. steel. the wind ripping through tree branches, waves crashing in the distance. the threat of sea monsters. fire. torches. stern brows. a dusting of snow on a man's beard as he gazes northward, at a force of approaching storm giants. Fire breath. Dragons. Sorcerers. A giant hammer striking the ground. A man's sword severing a giant's hand at the wrist. blood. fire. doom. doom. doom.