Let's say
Hypothetically
Someone was
Keeping score
And I had a
Perfect
Unsurpassed
Record.
In that case
There would be
Three hundred and twelve
Pieces of paper
Somewhere
In my house with
Five to thirteen lines of
Text on each of them.
And then suppose
Five and thirteen averaged
Out to somewhere between
Seven and eight.
Then do the math
And tell me what seven or eight
Times three hundred and twelve is
And then think about how
For each line of text on each
Sheet of paper
There is another
Sheet of paper in some
Binder somewhere
Or a pile in the righthand
Corner of my room.
And remember
I'm just one person.
And then think
About the butterfly effect.
Do you know
What happens
In the mail room
When you're not around?
Do you know
Who uses the copier
In the dead of night
Or the morning dawn?
Do you know
Where we go
When we
Die?
Or even
Why we're
All alive
To begin with?
It's sure
As hell
*(Or should I say
As unsure as hell
Because no one can
Agree on anything
Even a universal a
Concept as hell)*
That we're not living
To make paper
To print out our
Personal whims on.
And then think
About the butterfly effect.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 8:30 PM UTC
Let's say
Hypothetically
Someone was
Keeping score
And I had a
Perfect
Unsurpassed
Record.
In that case
There would be
Three hundred and twelve
Pieces of paper
Somewhere
In my house with
Five to thirteen lines of
Text on each of them.
And then suppose
Five and thirteen averaged
Out to somewhere between
Seven and eight.
Then do the math
And tell me what seven or eight
Times three hundred and twelve is
And then think about how
For each line of text on each
Sheet of paper
There is another
Sheet of paper in some
Binder somewhere
Or a pile in the righthand
Corner of my room.
And remember
I'm just one person.
And then think
About the butterfly effect.
Do you know
What happens
In the mail room
When you're not around?
Do you know
Who uses the copier
In the dead of night
Or the morning dawn?
Do you know
Where we go
When we
Die?
Or even
Why we're
All alive
To begin with?
It's sure
As hell
*(Or should I say
As unsure as hell
Because no one can
Agree on anything
Even a universal a
Concept as hell)*
That we're not living
To make paper
To print out our
Personal whims on.
And then think
About the butterfly effect.
Copyright 4/10/16 by B. E. McComb
a turning point written in the dark in the office under the window that leads to nowhere behind the overflow and across from the supply closet on the day that i lost my mind.