Blobs, Blobs & More Blobs
Breadcrumbs 2020
Leftovers
From non-living matter to organic compounds to slimy blobs to crawlers to tree-swingers,
When the two-legged genome became the human beings we today play, is anybody’s guess.
Breadcrumbs 2022
Leftovers
Peel away all that clothing, all that hair, all that greasepaint, all that polish, all that jewelry.
Slice away the five sensory organs: the eyes, the ears, the tongue, the nose, the flesh.
And You will be just another blob; just another crunchy-chewy-gooey creature.
No different than any other life form this spinning globe has ever spun.
All the egocentric pretenses that humankind harbors, are but absurd theater.
* * * *
No matter how crunchy, how chewy, how gooey,
What can You expect from a blob of protoplasm, really?
* * * *
We are all blobs, some gifted by natural selection with veneers that entice us to forget,
The reservoir of crunchy-chewy-gooey, sloshing and gurgling beneath a coating of dead cells,
Otherwise known as skin and hair and nails, buttressed by the five-sensory accoutrements.
* * * *
Some blobs are slimy.
Some blobs are gooey.
Some blobs are chewy.
Some blobs are crunchy.
Same quantum essence, all.
* * * *
We are blobs; we are all the progeny of blobs.
Our primordial antecedents were merely gooey, slimy.
But natural selection, lots of time, and no lack, no end, of horror,
Made us crunchy and chewy, as well; definitely, something to be vain about,
And ceaselessly, without qualm, make as much ado about nothing, as imagination allows.
* * * *
Seriously, what does a blob have to be vain about?
And of the quest for power, fame, fortune,
Surely You ha-ha jest, my friend.
* * * *
In the heterosexual scenario, at the other end of that lovely mouth –
Working its way up and down, and down and up, on the engorged masculinity–
Is a pliable anus, available for thirds, if the current femme fatale is open to such escapades.
And, as the alimentary canal is the same for all, the anus is relevant for any other combinations, as well.
Blobs, doing what blobs do, genetically-honed and choicelessly-chosen,
In their arena of narcissistic hedonism.
* * * *
So, you’re in love with a blob, eh?
What’s your favorite part?
Nerves or arteries?
Brain or body?
Heart or spleen?
Clitoris or ovaries?
Mouth or anus?
Lungs or liver?
Eyes or ears?
Nose or tongue?
Penis or testicles?
Legs or arms?
Knees or elbows?
Flesh or womb?
Big toes or thumbs?
Belly button or buttocks?
Imagine kissing and licking them all.
* * * *
Surveying from a surly distance, the human species,
Is really nothing more than a way-too-large throng of whacked-out blobs,
Doing what whacko blobs do, in their unfaltering, capacity for, and draw to, psychotic burlesque.
The arrogance of our kind’s insatiable narcissism, and the other whore, hedonism,
Has been an arduously tedious, painful, relentless march to suicide.
Alas, that we never took Darwin and Malthus seriously.
* * * *
Cloaking a blob in the finest mask and costume in the cosmos, does not make it any less a blob.
Is there really anything left to take seriously? Is there anything but illusion?
Absurdity reigns; why are we not rolling in the aisles?
* * * *
Some bodies appear beautiful, some over-all-beltlines ugly.
But all are blobs, with varying degrees of crunchy-chewy-gooey,
Sure to satisfy any organism with an appetite for such things.
* * * *
The obesity epidemic of these-our-times is a looming disaster that rivals climate change and nuclear war.
What in some god’s name, will all these overflowing blobs, look like by the conclusion of their lives?
What heights will pain and suffering reach, for they, their families, their friends, their communities?
The many challenges, the many trials and tribulations, will blaze new trails in this Darwinian theater.
* * * *
Egocentric
Ethnocentric
Phallocentric
Androcentric
Anthropocentric
Chronocentric
Heliocentric
Theocentric
Geocentric
Solarcentric
Cosmoscentric
All orbiting the me, the myself, and the I.
A flesh-wrapped blob believing itself to be whatever its imagination imagines.
* * * *
Are You really any more than a flesh-packaged-wrapped-sheathed-incased-bundled blob?
Are the human body’s five sensory accessories– eyes, ears, nose, tongue, nerve-ridden skin –
Anything more than Mr. Potato Head mechanisms wired into an organic central processing unit?
Are all the things that make the human paradigm what it is – opposable thumbs, larynx,
Two arms, two legs, lung capacity, group dynamics, sexuality, et cetera –
Anything more than the happenstance of natural selection?
The mystery is the master of all possibilities.
Nature is its ever-changing, ever-evolving expression.
The device You inhabit, is but current issue in a timeless dance,
Eternally kaleidoscoping, for as long as the enigma of imagination endures.
* * * *
If You want to believe the mind-body more than an imaginary blob,
Who is anyone to argue with the absurdities of delusion?
We will all be feeding daisies soon enough.
* * * *
Once You discern all life forms as nothing more than blobs,
With seemingly every imaginable feature, every imaginable attribute,
It is a bit easier to weave and wind through any given moment a tad more detached.
* * * *
We must all play the consequences, the upshots, the penalties, of our given nature-nurture.
No one can save anyone, no one ever has saved anyone, no one ever will save anyone.
These sensory-laced blobs of crunchy-chewy-gooey, in which awareness is witness,
Are as indivisibly-inexplicably-indelibly-ineffably disposable, as all quantum-made are.
* * * *
We are really nothing more than blobs of crunchy and chewy and gooey,
Imagining we are so much more than narcissistic, hedonistic, bags of vanity.
* * * *
We are all nothing more than recordings playing our little blob parts so seriously.
Stepping back into the oblivion of awareness, gives it the perspective it deserves.
* * * *
If You are an eye-catching woman, a shapely blob, with hypnotic eyes, a svelte voice,
And a willingness to do whatever anything implies, and there are men eager to pay high dollar,
The money, is that You would be, in fantasy, or in fact, spreading your sweet thighs to the highest bidder.
The only rather semantic difference, is whether You call it prostitution or marriage.
Friend, let us be honest: male or female, we are all whores.
Narcissism and hedonism, in all their glory,
Are what make the human paradigm tick, tick, tick.
* * * *
Re: Tattoos: What is the likelihood (a.k.a., probability),
You would wear the same t-shirt, the same baseball cap, the same whatever,
With the same message, the same image, the same meme, for the rest of your meaningless existence?
Many if not most, destined to become indistinct blobs on aging, likely flabby flesh.
Unless, of course, You are a (enter favorite team here) fan,
Or a religious fanatic, born to forever follow,
With too much money, too much time,
And too little sense, on your hands.
* * * *
What are all life forms, but blobs of all shapes and sizes, wrapped in one covering or another.
Only blobs that call themselves human beings have imagination enough,
To play out their temporal existence as thespians.
Actors who believe themselves more real than real can ever be.
* * * *
We are all blobs of crunchy and chewy and gooey,
Some with more aesthetically-pleasing exteriors than others,
But all just blobs, playing out the theater of consciousness, just the same.
Which blobs of crunchy and chewy and gooey, will copulate,
And cast forth the next generation, the next wave,
In the mystery’s Darwinian anthology?
* * * *
Blobs everywhere.
Some with eyes.
Some with ears.
Some with noses.
Some with mouths.
Some with fingers.
Some with toes.
Some with legs.
Some with arms.
Some with tails.
Some with muscles.
Some with fat.
Some with wings.
Some with fins.
Some with flesh.
Some with hair.
Some with scales.
Some with wit.
Some with folly.
Some with …
Some with …
Some with …
Some with …
Some with …
Some with whatever.
All blobs, nonetheless.
Soundbites
If You really believe You are that blob of crunchy-chewy-gooey, then think again.
* * * *
Keeping the blob under the beltline does not appear to be a priority for oh so many.
* * * *
Are You a blob, or the awareness prior to blobbery?
* * * *
You really believe You are this blob of crunchy-chewy-gooey?
* * * *
So, is your God a blob, too?
* * * *
What are these blobby bodies but time machines traveling through awareness.
* * * *
Cloaking a blob in the finest mask and costume in the cosmos, does not make it any less a blob.
* * * *
Blobs liking blobs, blobs loving blobs, blobs hating blobs, the human paradigm in a nutshell.
* * * *
Even aliens are blobs.
* * * *
Hard to take a blob seriously.
* * * *
Yet another blob with airs.
* * * *
Blobs all, each and every one.
* * * *
Why identify your Self with a mass, a glob, a blob, of protoplasm?
* * * *
We are all blobs with airs; what’s vanity for, if not to be unfurled?
* * * *
Someday those jocks and cheerleaders will look the blobs they are.
* * * *
Jesus and Buddha were blobs, too.
* * * *
Illusion delusion is the answer to why any one blob is favored over another.
* * * *
What can You expect from a blob, anyway?
* * * *
Blobs with genetically allotted packaging.
* * * *
All life forms are nothing more than naturally-selected, packaged blobs
* * * *
You have been blobbed.
* * * *
Packaged blobs.
* * * *
Blob this.
* * * *
Why should You care what another blob thinks of You?
* * * *
All we are is blobs with airs.
* * * *
How different the state of mind, wandering through a world filled with blobs.
* * * *
A blob by any name, is still a blob.
* * * *
Name that blob.
* * * *
A blob of crunch and goo only crunches and goos until the crunch and goo turns into worms.
* * * *
The blobs are all dressed up, and rolling out for a night on the town.
* * * *
A world full of human beings – faces, arms, legs, flesh, hair, nails – disguising blobby interiors.
Breadcrumbs
How was it You became so attached to this blob of protoplasm?
* * * *
That is one good-looking blob.
* * * *
How different the state of mind, wandering through a world filled with blobs.
Breadcrumbs 2023
Leftovers
Three-point-eight billion years of Darwinian fruition have gone into creating these two-legged blobs.
What are we but relatively miniscule organisms playing out relatively miniscule organism dreamtimes?
Identifying with the biological entity is the fountain of all imagination, of all illusion, of all delusion.
* * * *
This blob of crunch-chewy-gooey from which You peer is but a quantum-matrix fabrication,
In which imagination is but a trickster deceiving You into believing the dreamtime all real.
* * * *
This blob, this wall of flesh, this sheen of light,
Is outside and inside the one and only You,
Each and every kaleidoscoping moment.
Duality is the lie born of imagination.
Soundbites
Three-point-eight billion years of Darwinian fruition have gone into creating these two-legged blobs.
* * * *
A blob by any other name would be the same.
* * * *
You are nothing more than a flesh-wrapped blob.
* * * *
All must give the blob they inhabit its due.
* * * *
Such pretentious blobs.
* * * *
All the human blobs, blobbing along.
Breadcrumbs 2024
Leftovers
All we really are is living substance.
Quantum blobs of crunchy-chewy-gooey protoplasm.
Equipped with mask, hands and feet, hair and nails, lungs and larynx.
A cosmos built by eyes and ears and skin and nose and mouth.
And a brain, programmed, hardwired for imagination.
Impromptu Shakespearian theater dreamtime.
Illusional-delusional from the get-go.
* * * *
As long, as You truly believe; as long, as You truly maintain,
You are this crunchy-chewy-gooey grubby blob,
You have not seen what You truly are.
* * * *
Soundbites
All we are is blobs full of imaginary bullshit.
Breadcrumbs 2025
Leftovers
You are nothing more than a blob of crunchy-chewy-gooey,
With arms, legs, fingers, toes, a larynx, a face, and other accoutrements,
That, paired with imagination, hoodwink You into believing You are something more.
But there is no more, this is it, this is all there is, a one-time theater, nothing more, nothing less, poof!
No deities on high, no heavens, no hells, just this timeless moment, this here, this now,
For You to play out, to imagine, however your nature-nurture calls.
Demon or angel, your decision, every moment.
Soundbites
Another grub, another blob, oozing through all the orifices.
Michael’s Rabbit Hole
When It Began
From non-living matter to organic compounds to slimy blobs to crawlers to tree-swingers,
When the two-legged genome became the human beings we today play, is anybody’s guess.
Breadcrumbs 2020
Blobs Everywhere
Blobs everywhere.
Some with eyes.
Some with ears.
Some with noses.
Some with mouths.
Some with fingers.
Some with toes.
Some with legs.
Some with arms.
Some with tails.
Some with muscles.
Some with fat.
Some with wings.
Some with feelers.
Some with fins.
Some with flesh.
Some with hair.
Some with scales.
Some with wit.
Some with folly.
Some with …
Some with …
Some with …
Some with whatever.
All blobs, nonetheless.
Breadcrumbs 2022
So, You’re in Love With a Blob, EH?
So, you’re in love with a blob, eh?
What’s your favorite part?
Nerves or arteries?
Brain or body?
Heart or spleen?
Clitoris or ovaries?
Mouth or anus?
Lungs or liver?
Eyes or ears?
Nose or tongue?
Penis or testicles?
Legs or arms?
Knees or elbows?
Flesh or womb?
Big toes or thumbs?
Belly button or buttocks?
Imagine kissing and licking them all.
Breadcrumbs 2022
All Blobs the Same
Some blobs are slimy.
Some blobs are gooey.
Some blobs are chewy.
Some blobs are crunchy.
Same quantum essence, all.
Breadcrumbs 2022
All We Really Are
All we really are is living substance.
Quantum blobs of crunchy-chewy-gooey protoplasm.
Equipped with mask, hands and feet, hair and nails, lungs and larynx.
A cosmos built by eyes and ears and skin and nose and mouth.
And a brain, programmed, hardwired for imagination.
Impromptu Shakespearian theater dreamtime.
Illusional-delusional from the get-go.
Breadcrumbs 2024
Have You Seen Your Self?
As long, as You truly believe; as long, as You truly maintain,
You are this crunchy-chewy-gooey grubby blob,
You have not seen what You truly are.
Breadcrumbs 2024
A Blob of Crunchy-Chewy-Gooey
You are nothing more than a blob of crunchy-chewy-gooey,
With arms, legs, fingers, toes, a larynx, a face, and other accoutrements,
That, paired with imagination, hoodwink You into believing You are something more.
But there is no more, this is it, this is all there is, a one-time show, nothing more, nothing less, poof!
No deities on high, no heavens, no hells, just this timeless moment, this here, this now,
For You to play out, to imagine, however your nature-nurture calls.
Demon or angel, your decision, every moment.
Breadcrumbs 2025