We become what we think about.
—Earl Nightingale
So let’s say I think of the Regent of Ridiculousness
who, both alluring and alliterative,
insists on eloping with elephants
and reading only far-fetched philosophers.
Such a Ridiculous Regent, perhaps does not exist,
except that I think about him, and so,
perhaps as Earl Nightingale suggest,
I become him, become an exuberant exhibitionist,
a giggling goof who spontaneously translates Transylvanian—
that’s Romanian. I’d write this all off as irrational,
except already I’m feeling rather regent-ish, certainly ridiculous,
and it’s only line twelve of the poem.
Imagine, dear reader, you, too,
are right now becoming ridiculous,
addicted to alliterative allusions. Sorry!
Tomorrow we might think more therious thoughts.
But for today, rollicking ridiculousness!
For today, suntem regenți ai ridicolului!
For today, may we be viscounts of vivacity,
prime ministers of playfulness, marquesses of mirth,
and duchesses of delight!