Punctuality

Below an O
my stomach growls
a colon punctuates the
ampersand of bowels

I've been thinking a lot about punctuation lately, in every sense of the word. It can mean the difference between utter rambling and cohesive thought.

Spacing is important, too. Maybe the last sentence didn't seem too appealing to your fickle eyes, so they darted over here, guided by the double line-break. This is probably the only thing on the page worth reading, so you can fuck off, now. Good riddance.

There is no reason to be punctual at a very young age. Nobody cares what you have to say, so they certainly don't need your company at any specific time of the day. When grammar school comes, they get you on the clock. Up at 6:45 AM, Monday through Friday. Gotta catch the bus at 7:15 AM. School starts at 8:00 AM. Tap, tap, tap...we got you now you little bastard, no escape. The metronome of social order is burrowing into your developing skull.

Not that punctuality is a nefarious thing; it is simply unavoidable if you wish to participate in modernity. You never had a choice, but it's not any more treacherous than vaccination. A minor touch-up to the natural state of things. A little airbrush on her work. If Mother Nature didn't want this, she shouldn't have given us the power to size her up and buy her new clothes. As long as we exercise good taste, she might keep us around for awhile.