Cat snacking

Our precious little cat, Erin, a 14-year old Cornish Rex, eats crunchy snacks with his remaining teeth and sits on my lap.  Both his ears are curled after recovering from big blood clots never fully diagnosed (no visible scratch sites from fighting and no mites or other infestations).  He has permanent vertigo, his world constantly spinning, making him walk/stumble with his head turned sideways.

Erin was as surprised as I was to learn that the Federation of Planets, its current headquarters a satellite circling our Moon, issued an emergency passport to Edward Snowden.  The FoP, if you remember, issued its honorary first passport, No. 0000000000000000000000001, to Galileo Galilei and its second to Leonardo Da Vinci, but clearly said it shows no favoritism toward Italy, issuing its third honorary passport to a group of amino acids found inside a meteor that crashed in Antarctica a long time ago but was recently discovered and immediately classified as ultra top-to-bottom secret by the corporate-owned country that sponsored the expedition.

The FoP is in negotiations with the Russian Federation to send a special launch to the International Space Station with Snowden on-board, hoping the ISS will be the first official embassy of the FoP while Moon and Martian headquarters are being designed and constructed.

Meanwhile, Snowden continues his astro/cosmonaut training within a hidden facility of the Moscow airport.

The Chinese government will neither confirm nor deny that it has made room for FoP diplomats in its new space station.

As the morning sun warms the sunroom, Erin hops off my lap and heads to a chair under the skylight, a hint for me to step outside and work on the foundation for the new privacy fence.

There are moments…

There are moments where the incredibunctious creativity of others makes me want to kill myself in bourgeois mediocre banality.

This is one of those moments

It’s not enough that killing trees and small rodents makes me question the role of our sets of states of energy on other celestial bodies…

…except to tell myself that how combinations of sets of states of energy recombine energy/mass is fractionally fractious if not fictionally close to fractal patterns one step away from randomness whose repetition makes us believe in godlike qualities of beauty, purity and real flavours of ice cream.

Better a silent self-delusional god than a loud and complete fool that I usually play for laughs.

I will never satisfy the rulemaking judges of dance because the noise in my thoughts is more musically challenging than perfecting socially-defined steps toward judgeworthy happiness, but I can try.