If life can only play out in a preordained progression
and if we’re nothing but a bunch of mobile camera stands
I’d like to take this moment to express my discontentment
to the entity who placed the stupid camera in my hands.
I’d turn my camera inward then I’d see if I can find it;
that preordaining entity that’s averse to taking risks,
the one who closed the off ramps and boarded up the windows,
who thinks life is unfolding fine and nothing here needs fixed.
I’m pretty sure it lives inside ‘cause that’s the only place
my camera cannot see when I hold it to my eye.
I’ll take my metaphysical camera in my very physical hands
and film a pataphysical documentary about why
philosophers waste our time on theories that simply can’t be proved
or disproved either, does the term futility ring a bell?
I am a camera/Am I a camera – the greatest minds cannot decide.
I think the greatest minds should get a job or go to Hell.
Thanks to Jack, again, for the seed of the idea for this poem.