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Complexity’s A Drag

Simple Souls. That’s how the cookie crumbles: the more complex the system the more things that can go wrong with it. I ought to know, given the prodigious amount of things that are going kaput in, on, out and about my complex vile body. I think I’d gladly emulate the little chap in the doodle and become a single-cell organism. The only drawback I can see in this otherwise amiable state of being is that I wouldn’t be able to operate a mouse or a tablet and therefore no doodles. Then again, that would make some people very happy so it would sort of even things out, more or less. I love happy endings. And bad poetry.

  • When I was a small amoeba
  • Cuter than the queen of Sheba
  • If trod upon I would split
  • Slide, regroup and reknit
  • And go back to puff my cheeba.
  • When I was a small amoeba
  • And I didn’t have a liver
  • I could get drunk every day
  • Happy, merry, free and gay
  • And my pods woul’n’t even quiver.
  • When I was a single cell
  • Life was easy, life was swell
  • Now I am eukaryotic
  • Drifting around quite neurotic
  • And my life is one pure hell.
  • If you know what’s good for you
  • You’ll stay put and not be two
  • Cleave to your monadic charm
  • Never try to grow an arm
  • Don’t become organic stew!

Name of author

Name: Dolores

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