MOMENTUM

The more precisely the position is determined, the less precisely the momentum is known in this instant — and vise versa.” Werner Heisenberg

What does it matter how far one may travel in how little time if one has no connection to here now — and vise versa. Momentum is to physics as nature is to genetics, nurture is to psychology and purpose is to civilization. Position is physics’ search for the most minutely specific space and time wherein lies the dwindling possibility of — what was once assumed to be most blatantly obvious — the solid. Position is to physics as Adam is to genetics, Eve is to psychology and God is to civilization. What does it profit a man to gaineth the earth if he loseth his soul — and vice versa.

Agriculture, religion, citizenship, standardized education, and television all act as artificial magnets to align and contain the once naturally free circulation of humanity in symbiotic coevolution with the planet. The completely voluntary transition from Minahana to Mahayana is a unique form of orientation wherein one must learn to translate one’s own orientation to nature into the artificial language understood only by clots of addicted clones awash in an overdose of civilization’s somatic delusion of manifest destiny being pushed by everyone to everyone. It’s hard, but somebody’s gotta do it. In the big boat, it’s either eat shit or bail, baby. In Western civilization one’s oar on the big boat is foisted on one before one’s little boat is even given credit for existing much less worth recognizing, orienting or contributing.



Assigning purpose to one’s life
Attempts to justify the pains
Of pleasing frowning judges
For what happiness one gains.


All purpose needs procedure
Like water seeks the sea
By river and slowest seeping
The gravity of the oldest itch
Draws my curious attention
Lest I stop to scratch
Some layer of its tempting symptoms
Swimming upstream from the clarity of stillness.
Anything may happen
When nothing needs be done.


All purpose needs the discomfort
Of the actor with the play.
The plethora of patches culture sews
On a script so full of holes the page
Can’t contain the truth that always happens
In the world that is the stage.
That awful angst filled itch of “aught to be”
Disturbs one’s natural serenity
With the momentum of the chase
Pumping legs like a dreaming dog
Thinking up something to need to fetch
And somewhere to go to get it,
Activity to report to friends
At the next butt-sniffing
Neck-nipping party.


Purpose is the bicycle we must continually pedal
To peddle the myth that we’ll fall over if we stop
To piddle away an ideally idle idyll observing
Our selves as we do the rest of the world
Without the momentum of our path
To the secure, solution-satiated future
Promised by the ads …
If we can just get our money back
For the junk in the garage.


Even coasting on a promise of profession
Manifests the mechanism of pursuing
The dream through which we steer
Blinded to where we are
By potholes up ahead
And impatience for the end.


The business man is more haunted
By the knowing grin of an old bum on the street
Than the life of deceit that burns in his briefcase
And plows deep dispeptic furrows in his brow.
Straightening his tie, he re-erects himself
By leaning on the things the tramp hasn’t got:
Monthly bills that could annually support
Fifteen families of the people
Who made his kid’s twenty pair of sneakers.
Its the patriotic thing to do.


His suit is a symbol that says
“My staff pumps the pedals of my money machine
While I puddle profits into piles behind dials in the isles
And take home a big bonus to boot.
How dare that hobo pity me?
I was the one that gave him the dollar!”