You Meet God And She's Mostly Dead Fish. You Ask Her Why And She Says Most Of The World Is Dead Fish,

You meet god and she's mostly dead fish. You ask her why and she says most of the world is dead fish, and she's made herself to appeal to the most common denominator, the everyman funnyman comedy show that runs for eleven seasons but with the entire universe in mind. You ask her how much of the dead fish is your fault, she says it's far less than you'd think, in the grand scheme of things. You ask her if you matter at all. If you can do anything. She shrugs her rotting shoulders and says mattering is a made-up concept, like life, but sure, you can matter if you want to, on some scale. She has many scales. She doesn't know what you mean by 'anything', but you can do everything you can. You ask her if it's enough. She says there's no base requirement for deserving to exist. She's smoking a joint and the smoke filtering out of her gills gathers and forms gas giants and red dwarfs. You ask her if there's any hidden secrets of the universe you should know and she says it's not a secret if she tells, plus it's fun to let you figure it out yourself. You ask her if any of your questions were right questions and she says you worry about being right so much it might keep you from fucking around, which is as close to meaning of life as she ever bothered to make. You don't ask but she says she loves your hair, also your whole being, also your planet. She says she figured out what love is yesterday and is trying it out, which explains the ten thousand rainbows and sudden influx in rains of fish. She offers you a drag of her joint and you wake up half past midnight behind a chain restaurant clutching a smoked salmon. The new stars are winking like they're in on some joke and you're sure if you try hard enough you'll remember what it is.

I will never not be amused by the endless irony of AM and how he, a machine with nothing but hatred and envy for the humans who created him, was so loved by his Harlan Ellison (the original author of the story, AKA his real life creator) that he HAD to voice him in every single installment of IHNMAIMS possible, not letting anyone else take him.

The very thing AM hates most is the one that gives him life and keeps him alive outside of the narrative. In a way, it's similar to how he keeps the five humans alive in the story, but at the same time it's the opposite spectrum of it: the burning hatred of the machine versus the boundless love of the artist.

and it did not fly

there is a mayfly stuck in the little pine 

and i would rescue it if i didn’t know what 

bug bites felt like. i don’t know how he got

there. you would think

something with wings

would be smarter than you.

but it seems we are the same.

You said your favorite Disney Princess was Mulan.

I remember it through a kind of fuzzy static,

The damp night air and the pounding of my calves as we waited in the line for the boat ride,

And I don't remember who asked the question first,

About which Disney Princess was our favorite,

But I said some silly answer,

Like Cinderella or Aurora,

And you said you liked Mulan.

I had never seen Mulan.

I don't think I ever even watched Snow White or Sleeping Beauty in full,

I knew who she was, of course,

A pretty girl with short hair,

She seemed sweet enough,

And I asked you why you liked her.

You said because she was actually strong.

Not like the other princesses,

Who waited for some man to come and save her,

Up in their towers and miserable in their homes,

No,

Mulan saved her country,

Just because she wanted to.

She was independent.

I felt stupid for not considering someone as important,

As different,

As special,

As her.

You explained to me,

And I wanted her to be my favorite too,

And in that,

Though it wasn't your intention,

I thought the other girls who liked the other princesses,

were in the wrong as well.

Mulan was never my favorite.

But she was yours.

feeling fish emotions today

white night