The Goodness of Pie

Everything had the same everything for an everything. Everything's only--if everything could be noun-ed. Yes, the same everything. Everything depended on the everything in which everything, particularly "thingy" was pro-noun-ed.

Only a momentary set-back. Everything gave way to everything else.

At this point, I began to put together a guest list, which lead to the question of geometry. Really, why geometry, you might ask. If you're asking, that is. The perfect circle.

No, you might say. But this way was the way to the fish fry. I am not thinking about fish, but about her pie. In what universe might pi (pie) be one rather than three something, some irrational number? When does the mathematically irrational become rational? Hmmm. Her pie.

The picture. Yes, mother.

Time to Stop

Time to stop.

Time stop.


The question was time. Whether it was a relationship, a condition we made up for understanding ourselves or a condition independent of us. Hard to say.

Time was when there was dinner. Someone needed to tell her how good her pie was. And it was good pie. Delicious. But pie is usually dessert--at least in this neighborhood. Sure, there's meat pie, pizza pie, but I'm thinking apple, peach, pecan, even chocolate. I was talking about dinner.

But there was another problem. When the guests arrived, they had neither lived nor died. Indeed, their existence was odd. Was time a mode of existence to them? I had to ask being as I am a philosophical kind of person. Other people might say different. But time. Here it was. A picture.

Sure, you might say I have taken an obvious and easy way out here. Circuits around the sun? What about radioactive decay? Atomic clocks? But I don't have a picture. I do, however, have a picture of pie, a pie made of words. Eat these words. I would have to ask these guests about family. I don't even know that they need something to eat.