Such crisp, high-performance
Walking-around knowledge I possess:
There are two Starbucks in Iceland
Frinstance, or that rice
Was first planted from planes
In 1932, or that all wars
Are between Rome and the Jews.
My auto assistant has compiled everything
And is ready to distribute
The memo with Q&A
In notes that won't waste
Anybody's time
Out to the universe,
Fans and creditors alike
But no one ever sees them.
Everyone has their own feed,
Too self-absorbed to receive,
All they can do to survive.
It being recorded in itself
Relieves anyone of the obligation
To pay attention.
I am that tree that falls in the forest
That, if it's not seen, does it exist?
Physicists are baffled by such questions
But the world's existence is objectively
The one in question,
With the universe left over,
Still there, in the end.
And what if the tree never fell?
It would never be noticed
In the forest,
So unconscious with joy
That's how conscious it is,
Creating non-existence
As a necessary condition of its life.
The red-faced blonde with the beard
Knows this, his weathered face
Has pondered non-existence frequently,
But he also knows, in order to
Hold the course,
To keep his eyes fixed
On what the world provides,
The stuff that can be made real.
He's resilient with time, content
To stare the sun
All the way down the wall.
He only needs to be what he imagines:
Fresh spanging opportunities,
Hundreds of birds crying in the eaves.
