Friday. Again. My brain is filled with cotton nightmares. Soft and warm, beguiling and dangerous. Autopilot seems like the best plan right now. Just run and run until you hear metal grinding on metal and pieces start flying off. Then lay down in the bright moonlight and ponder the deeper questions. The questions to which there really is no answer. Sometimes I think the great philosophers where merely spinning time. Nothing better to do. Stringing words together in a somewhat coherent fashion. The lucky ones actually turned out something that sounded cool and made people stop and look. Not really even understanding it themselves they could look back and stare blankly, making them look humble and smart. That’s all it is, a colossal misunderstanding combined with stupid luck. Random occurrence is the true god. No rhyme or reason. Just luck.
No comments:
Post a Comment