some of the best conversation i had, happened in my mind. don't everybody's? a sharp-minded friend of mine finds it amusing that i speak it out in monologue...impromptu train of thoughts, just like that and i can hardly repeat them. if i try to, slowly, it will sound fake, rehearsed and...never as sharp.
such is the making of this book. i just gather some scraps and strips of trims, lace, ribbons, whatever is in the bucket and stick them on.
i will use it to jot down my fragment of thoughts...
i don't watch or read news
it's too up-to-the-minute to merit attention
too "post hoc, ergo propter hoc"-ish
(english: after it, therefore because after it)
—which is hardly ever the case
or perhaps think the conflicts are too fabricated by those who don't actually understand (myself included) the issues
simply not quite interested, might be the case as well
(i must say i do on the occasions interrupting my little cocoon)
my dreams are adventurous and in colors, in between midnight black and midnight blue to be exact
anything after the year 1996 are too futuristic
by curse of nature lacking some mystical qualities, i have a severe navigational idiocy
(i should someday decide if it's due to some genes deficiency in ability to have the mentioned focus span instead)
talk no more, talk no more
i'd rather listen to your goldfish
i know some big words too...marmalade, aromatherapy, hermes
i don't drink
i'm too busy translating the asyndeton and aposiopesis of the drunk
to the drunk wannabe
if i'm so consistent,
i'd still be wearing a diaper
life is to live and to love,
i'm breathing it in the best i can
(well, almost...that's the plan at least)
i'm trying to rebuild myself
but i lost the blueprint of my frontal lobe
a friend defines me as a professional bum
because i master the art of bumming around
like no other
(i can be ad hominem too)
he's jay gatsby without the flair
after moses parted the red sea,
nothing can shock me anymore
refusing to think is pure evil
i do whatever my heart desires
without worrying too much of the label attached to it
i'm captivated
by the native american myths, legends and lores
watching austin power
is like staring at a cow for 45 minutes
(although i've tried neither)
hypothesis of why i'm like this:
#1 a flower pot fell on my head which left me
with no recollection whatsoever
i'm left with only notions,
no memories of any previous occurrence
#2 abstract defraged my frontal lobe,
the day i let my friend have half a day
trying to paint the color of my mind
#3 freud and his dramas!
blah blah blah of such magnitude
clutter the conversation between
my left and right brain hemisphere
#4 a+ thesis
the day i finally read the first paragraph of
the textbook years later
i second guess priority of reality
i'm rarely confrontational outside my head
but sometimes my mind has a big mouth
recedite liberal hippies
we conservatives are taking over
tragic has its moments
i insist, k armstrong is a carrier as destructive as of that enola gay
and her magnitude of pathological fallacies are astronomical
i retired because it seems romantic at the time
besides, i'm in between jobs
(hey, even budha sat under the bodhi tree for 40 years to get enlightened)
something like that, if not.
this piece was therapeutic and a pleasure in the making.
i wish to share it in a limited private class next week.
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