High Without Reason

Don't know if I was feeling good or feeling bad or if I really need to invest in such judgments.

I just was. Thinking.

I thought about this and I thought about that and I thought about there, here, everywhere and nowhere. That took all of two seconds, so I sped away again in my mindspeeder... time travel is possible in the imagination.

Back in the present moment, drool was collecting on my bottom lip.

But whatever. I was all-thinking. I thought about God saying something like "I'm not in the business of making sense. I'm in the business of getting things done." Or "I don't have a license to practice logic. Don't need one. I'm God. But that's not my thing anyway-- logic was a game created by humans for humans to play. There's no universal rule that every "it" has to make sense. That's a human myth. But why would you listen to me-- I'm God."

Or some such noise.

I had to go to see my therapist. She's been helping me with my theoretical endeavors. The theology of it all. Does that thought really exist? Okay, so not really. But she has been helping me. She suggested that I get a dog. So we did.

Enter Muppet.

Muppet is a miniature poodle. I never thought I'd have a poodle. But I do. And he's perfect.

So we've transitioned from loving couple to loving trio. Mommie and Daddie and Doggie. We're all getting along quite famously.

I have no real reason for going on with this, this "writing." It doesn't make sense. Where's the issue? The contrast? The development and counterpoint and the suspense? Why would anybody wanna read any of this?

Um, God? Yeah-- little help here?

There are thoughts about sensitive issues. About saran wrap. About toenails and toejam. About the interplanetary rotation of it all. About the plastic in our lives. About the end of lives. About death and dying. About junkmail. About the fate of the puppeteer. About the long and the short of it. About why. About who. About when. About face.

Non-congenital thought disease.

Just needed to write something. Didn't care what. Who. Where. How. When. Anything.

Leave sense for the philosophers in the crowd.

There's so much thinking that goes on-- in so many directions. So much seems to have little purpose.

But that's on purpose.

The question is the little engine that could and will keep right on chuggin' along, running the universe.

Ask not what your country can do for you-- ask what you're doing for the everything.

I gotta go to the chiropractor-- disjunction adjustment required.