Ladders Live On

You awaken or rise from sleep or fall out of bed or something.  You stumble around on your toes because you have two feet on the ground.  Why should you do this particularly human thing?

Because you are.

You are one.  You are a human, it’s a little hard to understand.  Me, or him, or you, or I, or whoever the protagonist of this tale is.  This is a tale.

You may get coffee in the mornings.  I do.  I appreciate the cup of coffee I make in the morning because the coffee machine is pretty much set and forget as far as I’m concerned.

forget about it, my coffee maker says to me.

I will, says I.

But I don’t.  I love him so, and I love his coffee and I drink it and in a little while I am happy and awake, due to the bean water, my bros.

That’s ok.  We’re forty light years in the future now and you’ve just found this, maybe.  But maybe you didn’t.  Maybe I wrote this in 1846 and I’m a time traveler.  No, I’m kidding.  Maybe I’m transcribing a letter I found in a painting I got at a yard sale, but no, people didn’t talk like this back then.  They don’t talk like this back now, though.  They do then, out there in the future of it all.