Hokku

Sometimes, I'm the silly old man: voice droning on about some meaninglessly involved conceptual play, laughter but not concern crossing my features for fears of the eternal cliches, endless song choruses looping in my head when I should be focusing on social cognition. I fail to remember people's names because I consider them meaningless. (Sure, at one time they had meaning, but having someone try to understand or--worse even--live up to the demands of their name is an antiquated notion, like the State legislating morality or the sacredness of wedding vows.) So, here goes my attempt to cleanse my head of needless clutter and pierce through the veils over my eyes with a finely tempered and sharpened blade. Apologies to the friends that shared this moment. I know it's not a real hokku. Poetic forms have never been my strength. But it's hokku-esque, in intent if not in form:

Sunlight reflects on
The yellow ukulele
In the fruit market

It's the beginning of the end! He's begun to post poetry! Gods below, this can lead to no good.

Consider: "Where love rules, there is no will to power; and where power predominates, there love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other."