It’s the middle of the night here in Gutenberg land.
The dark, spooky, witching hour,
when wishes are made true.
I wish I may, I wish I might,
I wish the idiot route planners at the Frankfurt Airport,
the ones who are trying to make a “branding”
ie hide behind a name,
by calling themselves by the cutesy “Fraport,”-
said “Fraport” being that which routes planes over the Gutenberg Land hospital,
student dorms,
scientists in the moon rock labs
or working on import medical experiments to benefit mankind,
while having to adapt working times
and adjust results,
for the
“there will be no flights at night-oops maybe just the occasional one to Japan and Asia-
at two am
three am
four am
and five am
in packets of up to five at a time
“occasional” flights-
in case of emergency only,
as laid out by the German courts,-
watch all of their planes land safely,
register that everyone debarked without problem,
and then stare at box after box of bolts,
screws,
wingtips-
that suddenly just dropped off,
unaccountably.
Machine stress,
due to the constant noise in the sky,
from all those “occasional” night planes.
Unreparable.
Looks like we’ll have to close the Fraport-
transfer everyone to London Heathrow, Gatwick, London City,
or whoever wins the lottery-
they could of course just build a giant bike lane in the chunnel-
in the middle of the night.
In the middle of the night,
I wish I may,
I wish I might,
have the wish-
how about a league-
the decent people league-
that would consist of those in specific jobs,
who would quietly,
behind the scenes,
just plain pitch in
and clean the Augean stalls.
No hoo-ha,
no eighteen months of elections,
just good people working together.
The nice-guys’ league-
people of all races, creeds, religions,
who are just plain tired of people
telling them, and everyone else
they are different-
we aren’t different, we are people you nits-
God only made one kind-
unless you are a sentient rabbit-Or a talking frog.
Get it together, people.
Oh, and pulleeze, stop trying to make everyone alike.
Some of us truly truly enjoy our lives-
every off-the-wall wacky, joyful moment.
It’s a perfect antidote to the fact that
some of us ARE,
and almost weren’t
like ex- parrots aren’t.
The Monty Pythons knew what they were talking about.
As for some of the rest of you,
you ought to be ashamed.
Using machines to distance people from one another, create havoc, threaten us with an
age of constant playing, with machines only, because no human being has the stress
tolerance of a newt any more.
Due to machines.
Have you actually tried to get money out of a teller machine lately-
or make transfers,
to pay bills,
with a huge line behind you
all waiting to pay bills on the last of the month.
And,
instead of singing a couple of songs together,
or the bank hiring an entertainer for the rush hour,
we push,
and shove,
and complain,
and all due to the ones who want us to play with machines all the time,
while registering our finger prints,
or taking pictures of our faces
in the machine’s hidden camera.
Two pm, subject bought nylon socks.
That’s the second pair this week.
Is she nervous about something-
something that could indicate something important?
Uh, yes, I’m nervous, because you won’t let me sleep, you idiot.
You’ll adapt.
Or the next generation.
Horseless carriages caused panic, scared animals, disturbed the town,
and killed people.
Did we adapt?
Yes.
We learned to live with panic, fear, and dead animals and people.
Do horseless carriages have a purpose?
Yes.
Of course.
When you have to get somewhere in a hurry,
and the bus has stopped running,
and the people on the street also,
and a cab will take a half hour to get to you,
it’s good to have a car to drive.
When you try to get into the city,
and are stuck in a huge traffic jam,
not so.
Cause and effect-
result-
we have adapted.
And adapted.
And don’t know how much more we can adapt.
Result.
Super bright,
super technological,
super kids,
whose fingers text in the air when their phone is in their pocket.
To whom exploring something mentally-
what if,
and then?
is stressful.
I was once labeled,
as an “over-thinker”
again,
and again,
and again,
by the folks on facebook.
Like it was a curse.
“Beware…get out the garlic…let two tall men
in top hats
with candles
and bells,
walk in front of me
as I walk the pavements….
I am an ‘over-thinker'”
Wanted:
other over-thinkers.
Reward:
exploring the universe and all that is in it
at three am
Did I mention it is the middle of the night
But I am finally tired.
And the planes have stopped for a moment.
Contact for the normal people’s over-thinker club here at Dunnasead.co
Now I lay me down to sleep….
It’s the middle of the night.
copyright Dunnasead.co 2016
Quahog on a Tightrope 