in a rush to be loyal. promised and will pay. what will become when the contract's done, when disconnect from daily sways into my creative out of my furtive hopes to write experience and strife when i have no more to show up for?
she said "living together" me and her home i think in fusions hypothetical illusions Continue reading
Some say wisdom is a product of time. But I say it comes from eating pie. It wasn’t a dark and stormy night, it wasn’t a rainy day in New York. It was a typical day at the office and then she walked in. My nemesis. My creamy tan skinned, soft in the cuddly places, hard in the rest, dreamy eyed brainiac with a voice that made me want to whisper. My type. Only my internal history book was flipping madly through pages to try and remind me that this was just a cruel deja vu. Fact is, I already had a someone else and it wasn’t her. Besides, I wasn’t her type. Or was I? STOP! That’s what I’m talking about. The winds of fortune had emptied the pantry and assembled another round of ingredients for “Stupid Decision” Doom Pie.
Now scratch that. Fast Forward. That went down about 50 years ago (subtract 40 to get the years in real time). Just goes to show you what a nice mixture of pain, euphoria, experience, and yes – time, can do for a fool. Turns an ignoramus into a stable pillar of reliability. If you don’t believe me, ask my other half. I mean it. I’m 40 years old now and I’m a damn pillar.
I’m not much of a cook, but I can bake with the best of them. Doom Pie is something I was good at in my younger years. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. The very wise and learned folks, the ones that people seek to have as mentors and look to for guidance? They’ve usually had their share of Doom Pies. Some had the “Spoke Too Soon” variety. Then there’s the “One Too Many Lies” kind. The “Made a Promise My Heart Can’t Keep” Doom Pies are very bitter; the “Proud and Boastful” kind usually ends up in your face.
Personally, my least favorite is the “Stupid Decision” flavor. I have heartburn for years after one of those. They start with a delicious drop of sugar that tempts and tantalizes. It may be the dollar you just saw your fellow Earthling drop, or the smell that wafts your way as she passes by and, like a fish to the hook, you bite. Then there’s a fleeting creamy sweetness that slides over you and makes you think you’ve been awarded first prize at the bake sale and contest. But before you can swallow you’re sunk. What was tasty becomes sour; what was smooth becomes full of gristle and tiny hairs of unknown origin. Your character is tarnished. Hearts become broken; people take sides. Precious time passes and you have nothing to show for it but a lesson. A valuable lesson. Is a lesson just as valuable when you have to repeat it several times? I think not.
But I digress. Lock a person into a vacuum and let time pass and you won’t have a more wise being when you loose the gates. People don’t have grey hair because of time, although its a small factor. Pie takes place over time. And Pie cultivates wisdom. To put it mathematically: