“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”
— Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
The arc of the moral universe is feeling pretty stiff this morning.
The arc of the moral universe overslept.
The arc of the moral universe didn’t sleep at all.
The arc of the moral universe just walked into the kitchen but forgot what it was looking for. It mindlessly opens the refrigerator as if the answer might be sitting next to the milk. All the shelves are empty.
The arc of the moral universe says, Goddammit.
The arc of the moral universe is buffering.
The arc of the moral universe has passed the same Pizza Hut three times. It can’t read a map for shit.
The arc of the moral universe is rocking back and forth in the bathtub.
The arc of the moral universe is out of ideas.
The arc of the moral universe wants you to please wait. Your call is important to it.
The arc of the moral universe is being talked over by your worst uncle.
The arc of the moral universe called in sick today.
The arc of the moral universe has been sick for a while now. It won’t go to the doctor. It doesn’t have health insurance.
The arc of the moral universe wants you to sponge its forehead and bring it soup.
The arc of the moral universe can be a delicate creature.
The arc of the moral universe is running very late. It’s sitting in standstill traffic behind a fleet of Amazon delivery vans, a burning Tesla, and a stretch limousine with Truck Nuts.
The arc of the moral universe is leaning on the horn.
The arc of the moral universe shouldn’t have stopped for that latte.
The arc of the moral universe owes you an apology.
The arc of the moral universe is full of excuses.
The arc of the moral universe is stubborn. And flaky.
The arc of the moral universe can put its leg behind its head but doesn’t feel like showing you.
The arc of the moral universe looks, from some directions, like a straight line.
The arc of the moral universe does not bend.
The arc of the moral universe must be bent.
The arc of the moral universe is a constant pain in the ass.
The arc of the moral universe whines for you to carry it.
The arc of the moral universe demands constant fucking supervision.
The arc of the moral universe doesn’t want to brush its teeth or put on a jacket.
The arc of the moral universe needs a good talking-to.
The arc of the moral universe is not what we wanted to worry about when we woke up this morning, but, well, tough shit.
The arc of the moral universe takes a village.
The arc of the moral universe feels our hands on every side, gripping it tight.
The arc of the moral universe resists out of spite.
The arc of the moral universe demands our sweat.
The arc of the moral universe breaks our nails.
The arc of the moral universe holds fast—until.
The arc of the moral universe trembles. It creaks. It groans.
The arc of the moral universe moves a fraction of a centimeter.
The arc of the moral universe feels its back pop.
The arc of the moral universe says, Thank you.
The arc of the moral universe asks us to do it again. And again.
The arc of the moral universe is an unweeded garden. An eternal sink of dishes. A tedious group project. A mouse who wants a cookie.
But it bends, it bends, it bends.