It's Not Easy Being Epistemological

Make it New

Would I recognize a new way of thinking if I saw any?

Out of the box: how would  I know?

I heard natives never even seen Spanish ships anchored

off shore.  Nothing but clouds in trees.

 

RipSmash&Ruin my folks dubbed me when I was small

and everything I handled went to pieces:

King My Dust touch. No rancor in this nickname.

Had the need to take things a part. “It broke,” I’d tell my

old man.”

IT?” he’d say:   “IT  broke?” 

I learned irony little and the  habit of putting the burden

of things falling apart on the thing-in-itself.

Even now when I sit on a rock I satanically accuse the rock of

being hard when it’s obvious hardness is an emerging quality

rising-up out of the relationship between my butt and the rock.

I’m as responsible for the  hardness as rock is—but I

practice my life long habit: reducing a triadic relationship

to a binary and blaming the other. 

Scapegoating.  An easy and conventional epistemological
convenience. Same with the cat:  my itchy eyes and aCHOO!

That bastard Sneeze-maker!

Breaking things still strikes my fancy even into old age—more

interesting than leaving them alone and as they are.

What makes them tick?  How can one know what one

knows without push and shove,  twist and tinker?