What Was The Question? At times, on reflection, I can’t help but wonder, “What was the question?” Upon admitting to myself, Trust is out of the question! Its impossible, to ever trust! Its impossible find any trust, If everything they say is a lie! When, everything I say is a lie, Locating anybody, trustworthy, Becomes difficult to impossible! If you can seldom trust yourself! If its hard, to know, who to trust! Lies bite the hand that feeds them, Its harder to know where to begin! Its hard to know, who to even ask! When questions, never come easy! If explanations, are a dime a dozen! If real answers might cost your soul, If confused over still being confused, Lowbrow slapstick, is sure to follow! Lying to ourselves is always political, Friends that lie can become expensive, Reality TV, moved to Gilligan’s Island! LaLa Land, has relocated to the capital, The winners decide what we call honest, Professional Wrestling is no longer fake, Lawyers debating the meaning of stupid! Insisting jokes have no place in the court, Whenever asking, what was the question? While refusing to listen to anyone’s answer, Wondering, what the hell it’s all leading up to, We have nothing to fear, except our own bullshit! When our personal lives are no longer all that funny! What was the question can rapidly aquire new meaning!
This is a basic root logic poem that can be extrapolated on in other poems, but illustrates a humorous approach to the Socratic method and what I call bullshit facilitation, or the art of making bullshit easy. That's another poem I have yet to write.
Before I was 50, I couldn't have written a handful of poems and could not care less about poetry, classics, novels, politics, jokes, etc. except as the occasional curiosity. Living on a commune, I got to try my hand at facilitating 50 hippies arguing about the best way to wipe your ass and how many squares of toilet paper to use. Its taken me the better part of ten years to accept, but lowbrow slapstick really is intrinsic to nature, and I intend to prove it before Vaudeville destroys the world. Trust me, nothing short of being able to help save the world from complete disaster, could ever have made me take up studying lowbrow slapstick. Its enough to drive half a dozen people insane, and I thought I should spare some of them the pain. The computers will spit out all the poems soon enough, but someone has to make sense out of their philosophy and mathematics, and I just happened to be the only guy in the world with the knowledge and skills to do what I always thought was impossible for someone like me. The Taoist masters knew otherwise, but they had no idea what I would write. You could say, they see more of the punch lines coming, which is why they prefer not to talk about it, but I can see the mathematics, physics, linguistics, and practical applications they can only guess at. Although what I write is incredibly complicated to do, the logic behind it all should break down to a simple fairytale and four root metaphors. My best guess so far, is it is the tale of Goldilocks Murphy, her poetry pets, the emperor's new clothes, and the tower of Babel, all told as adult potty mouth nursery rhymes that say everything and nothing. Our poems describe the meaning of life, and how to become more honest with yourself and pay it forward, by paying attention to all the stupid bullshit. Making Bullshit Easy is what life should be about, and humor makes it harder for people to deny.
