Neil deGrasse Tyson and Carl Sagan smoked their blunt

Ashes hit the floor and then their minds went on a hunt 

Cosmic cultured chaos and dimensions never seen 

Opened up before them, as a rift in time's routine 

Spilled sequential merit as the two discussed in tune 

Aliens and artichokes; a riddle and a rune

Neil gave his opinion of the theory of last breath 

Carl began to argue there was something after death

Suddenly another voice became the scholars' host

"Neil, you know he's right because dear Carl is now a ghost."

Blown away by what was said, Neil talked of his approach 

Carl agreed in fullness and their new friend hit the roach 

Laughter soon invaded as the scientists fell numb

Floating into nothing, they forgot where there were from

Conversation followed but the words were lost in space 

Smoking blunts will do that, as will food stuffed in the face ...

#scifi #poetry

"It is better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all", Neil said.

"FUCK THAT hopeless romantic bull shit!" Carl says before spitting and passing the blunt back to Neil.

Neil inhales the blunt twice while he holds the mind altering smoke in his lungs until he coughs roughly. Carl tries to pat Neil on his back while laughing but Neil shrugs away and goes to the corner of the building to lean over and regain some air. Once he is breathing normally again he asks, " Do you believe in love? Like do you think it's real?"

Carl busts into a clown like laugh. " Are you fucking serious bro?", he asks Neil.

Neil looks at the ground then into the sky. Carl studies the look on Neil's face then leans back against the wall and then puts the blunt to his mouth. He turns his focus to the redness of the blunt's end as he inhales and says, "No, I don't believe in love." He exhales the smoke and passes the blunt to Neil. " But I do believe in obsession and attachment. Those two things create the illusion of love. So yes I hate the hopeless romantic shit because it is better to not love at all. I don't see the point in losing an obsession that I've become so attached to." Carl said before taking the blunt in his hands again.

"Is it possible, Neil," I began, as I rolled

The weed in the browned paper sold

By the man at the nearby corner store

"That the religion is something we can't ignore?"

"Well, Carl, good question." Neil inhaled the essence

"Perhaps all can't be explained (away) by science."

"Yup," I took my hit. "Too much beauty to be

quantified by science." I nodded, happy to be free

from science's restrictions.  Neil's face broke to a grin.

We passed the blunt between us in silence then.

And, as he stifled the blunt's flame of clarity out,

Neil asked a single a question to the air, "what now?"

Carl watched the wisps of smoke curl away from the ends of his fingers and disperse into the blanket of stars above him. "Isn't it interesting," he mused, "How affected our perception of the universe is by that one puff, and yet the universe itself is hardly affected at all? And yet so many people believe that the stars rise and set for us."

"Of course," Neil said. "Many young students come to me complaining about the existential dread induced by my description of the size of the universe and illusion of time."

Carl touched his thumb and forefingers together and looked through them to the sky. "I've never understood that sentiment. I speak often about our place in the universe and its indifference to us, but that shouldn't require us to have a negative reaction in response. The universe should fill you with a sense of wonder and gratitude- for the fact that we have the capability to understand it if nothing else."

"Some people find it difficult to be grateful for chaos. They want order in their understanding, need things to fit into their boxes- and by fit I mean they don't just want orderly; they want small and orderly. They want to be the grandiose. It isn't enough to have infinite universes inside of them; for some reason they feel as if ALL the universes need to be inside of them." Neil sent another puff of smoke into the atmosphere. "Watch as it goes," he said. "I'm creating more Chaos. And chaos means that every tiny, infinitesimal change affects the entire future of the entire universe. It's all about sensitive dependence."

"That's true." Carl thought a second. "Although, in the grand scheme of things, the effect is still negligible comparatively. It's our ability to piece together all the effects which is most impressive."

"I don't know," Neil replied. "That's not how I see it. Chaos means that all of our collective actions together, along with every animal and every motion of every planet, star and black hole, are working together to determine our fate. The universe may be enormous, but it means that you are a part of something huge, a piece of the collective puzzle of that galaxy and that what you do actually does make a difference."

"Alright, well, want to see this puzzle piece create an epic change of energy?"

"What kind of energy?"

"I'm about to show you the extent of my potential," Carl replied, and dove headfirst, somersaulting down the grassy hill.

On a snowy night in Ithaca, two coated figures stood on the platform watching the taillights of the next to last bus pull away. 

"You've got to listen to the voice inside you."  One pulled something out of his coat pocket as he turned to the other, a younger man, and continued. "If you think Cornell is it, we'd love to have you and we'd do a lot of good.  It's not an easy decision you have, but remember that some of the greatest things happen by accident."  He presented the object in his hand and looked at the sky as if to catch a glimpse of stars beyond the clouds.  "Got a light?" 

The young man looked at the object and back to his companion's face.  "Is this a test, sir?" 

"What? Oh, no.  Just a way to pass the time until your bus.  We grow it in the back garden."

The young man's expression changed quickly from surprise to amusement as he fished a matchbook from his back pocket.  "All right, well I just want you to know I would never do this in the lab or before class or anyth-"

"Neil, it's all right.  May I?"

He lit it, rolling the tip through the bright match flame before bringing it to his lips.  The ember glowed like the receding taillights as the men passed it wordlessly, watching snow flakes settle softly to the earth in long, straight paths.

"They kind of look like stars passing if you squint."  Neil made his eyes into slits as he drew in smoke.  He let out slow, misty breath.  "When I was a kid, on snowy days I would stand in the yard looking straight up, pretending I was flying through space. Wouldn't come in for hours, drove my mom crazy. 'Why don't you play?'  She'd say, 'build a snowman!'  But I was playing." 

Carl gave a soft laugh. "Playing at meeting your distant physical relatives, more distantly related than anything we can know here on earth.  Even most meteorites come from our own system." 

"That's right! People don't even realize their connection to animals, much less the sun or any other suns."  He felt suddenly embarrassed.  Who was he to affirm Sagan? 

"Similar ingredients, different pots."  Carl grinned, examining the blunt in his hand.  "We are the universe smoking itself."

Neil breathed a short laugh and Carl stepped off the platform towards his car, pausing to look up through snow. 

"Hey, you're right.  Call me if your bus doesn't come."

     "Y'know, Neil." he dragged the cannabis smoke deep into his lungs. His friend's name came out suppressed, in a low frequency. He paused while holding his breath to fully infuse his bronchial capillaries with the full gamut of Mary Jane's combustion, none the least being, the elements of THC.

     Neil stared at the cranberry red ember perched near the tip of Carl's fingertip. The roach's abdominal end was nearly extinct. He wondered how his friend's index finger and thumb tolerated the heat. His mind went off on tangent from the subject of stars's phenomenon of innumeracy to the theoretical aspect of man's inventions involving the ubiquitous roach clip and related paraphernalia. "Carl could sure use such an instrument now," he thought.

     "Dude, y'know, Neil, . . . " He exhaled lengthily. Smoke followed his words. "It's not so much about numbers as much as it's about infinity. There's really no end number that's fully quantifiable. You and I both know we're fairly close to the actual number of stars within our own galaxy, but what about dark matter, string theory and alternate universes?How many stars there?"

     It wasn't a question begged of his fellow colleague, as much as a quantum physics exercise to play mental bridge.

     "Hey pass the joint, or what's left of it," Neil pleaded. "I get your point - but what's your point?" He pulled the bit of roach to his mouth holding it precariously between a pair of forceps and sucked ever so gently. His lips were puckered forward into thin mandible-like lines of dexterity.

     "My point is - cool forceps . You always carry those things? - Ooodles of stars! That's what our known universe contains, oooooodles of 'em."

      Hysterical laughter erupted from Neil. His characteristic broad grin matched the breadth of his forehead. Each time he attempted a rebuttal, his frame quaked. They'd been sitting on the concrete steps of Cornell's deep space telescope observatory when overcome with laughter. "Dude, my side hurts oooodles. The weed's inspired a numerical term of value. Ooodles huh?"

     "Oooodles on my noodle. Twinkle twinkle little oooodles, . . . Hey Neil check it out." Carl stood up abruptly and pointed skyward toward the Orion Constellation. "The hunter's armpit, the red giant, it makes me wanna light up another blunt."

     "Why's that, 'cause of the red tip on my roach?"

     "Yeah, that's ponderous thinking. Our own sun will become a red giant in 4.5 billion years. Then we're gonners." 

     Neil bit into his pizza. "Hey Carl, say Billions again!"