h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

energy
i just don't know how else to put it
here is our life
and it is a decision
and a string of consequences
each slightly different from the last
great poets
the road not taken
music
that chest stretching
that gut feeling
strengthening the arms
creating shape
potential
even the most you can do is not enough
the mind rejects satisfaction
infinite potential

But
What about
the lack of answers
the cruel illusion of tangibility
it teases
and mocks
were once 5 and learned
how to spell Toledo and it was meant to have done something for you
introduced you to
more than you thought you could be

Last night
my cabbie
was a born again Christian
and made God and Jesus
an enema for others
sat in his cab
and felt comfortable condemning
those heathen bastards that looked down upon him
those heathen bastards that tipped him less that 20 cents on the dollar
those heathen bastards that wore red lipstick and tight pants
and felt comfortable in his mobile
faux leather world surrounded by
the cheerfull judgement of Jesus

it is not an answer
there are supposed to be answers
I remember Mrs. Brooks telling me there were
the lack of answers is the most painfull thing
about that energy

It is never the choosing between right and wrong
it is knowing that mostly there is no difference
at all

the only way there is an answer is by phrasing the question to meet it half way
i think maybe that that is something like what 42 is all about
mmm...profound philosophical undercurrents in modern writing....who'd ave thought?

You must know
Thinkers today are
rare
and I
love you
very much.

That maybe is not THE answer
but it has to be
one of them.

It is easier to formulate the question when you know the answer beforehand. A question alone is nothing if it is not contemplated.

my beloved monster and me
if she wants she will destroy you

what is the orange to the ground?
What is so inviting in the kiss that sends the orange falling?
Driving alone with thoughts of the devine left sweeping behind the eyes, dashing from synapse and imagination. Am i the orange, the blossom of the greater tree? Am i the ground, beckoning with titilating fingers grabbing for the fruit? or am i the unseen force that drives the tree to grow higher, prouder?
Who am i who can not lick the sky and taste the water upon its breath?