No thank you no thank You no Thank you no thank you.
“How does it feel to be born?”
It’s scary. And everything is pale yellow and everything was quiet for me but others have told me they heard Piano and the early beginnings of rock’n’roll. In the wee beginnings, we fight to be the winner in the race, and it’s said it’s all so naive. (Which I believe.) Then you go through the motions. Just like puberty. And just when you’re all ready to grow the fuck up, they push you. They crumple you up like deflated balloons and push you out. Some say they don’t want you any more, so they push you out. They lied about not wanting you. It’s a fight, it’s a race to the end, just like at the beginning, except you’re much bigger now, and no competition except the host, she’s pushing you out. She’s the landlord; she doesn’t want you with her anymore. She thinks you need to move out on to better things. Then the pale yellow turns into a burst of light and white and things much bigger than you and things with defined shape and colors and textures are everywhere and you drown in yourself. You drown in big puddles of salty tear duck faucet fluid. You have finally finished just to go through with it all again, but in slow motion after all the birthing stuff is over with. You have to go through the stages all over. And the hardships you’ve just been through don’t mean a thing, and never will to anyone. Not even you. But now the competition is always there. Not just at the beginning, but for the rest of forever. And they turn you inside out and check you up and down. And you’re okay so they give you to the tadpole man. And then its warm and you are in the landlord’s arms. And for this moment everyone is in love with you. And the competition begins here. Right here, right now. You had your fifteen minutes. And that’s it. You won’t remember it. No one ever does.
“How come you remember it?”
I don’t.
“Then who told you?”
No one.
“Then how do you know?”
I don’t know. But you asked, so I gave you my thoughts.
“Thoughts?”
Sometimes, after all that, you give yourself time to think or just be spontaneous. That, friend, was all spontaneity.
“Then isn’t everything just sponityitity…spontan…spontanitieyty?”