I often find myself making up reasons why anything exists. It is the most enjoyable pastime that requires nothing of me and helps me understand the master parade. Words and phrases, what they mean, and what they symbolize belong in a mall, at the kiosks – to pluck – or in an arcade – to game. People used to flock to malls. They’d stay all day, and they were supposed to be fun. And life is fun because it’s always a mystery and mazes are orders of secrecy. Why does sound exist? The feeling it makes in its utterance is a comfort. If I said it or said by someone else I think about this. The different ways to accomplish the same goal can make sense sometimes.
Words mean different things to different people. The term moonshot, for example, is a reference to the luck it took to make it to the moon on time, or is it when a woman either misses or gets her period, narrowly escaping a life with a different outcome? Things are happenstance or fate and maybe it just feels that way. It’s anyone’s choice or it’s an urban dictionary. I have a dream or a theory that there is a balloon tied to my hand. A nurse asks to take my temperature or a Covid test, and it tethers me to the demise of my own imaginary brush with death. I feel it empty my bladder, empty my thoughts until I suck in water like all i do is suck in water then quit because all life is emptying some vessel. Then I suck in air and that is all I suck in until the replacement is complete. Then I donate my organs to someone in need. That is a lead balloon.
Thoughts are an audience and meaning owes them nothing. People can walk out anytime, or switch the parable so that its pull isn’t as strong. There is high neuroplasticity to meaning, bending almost like water as it pours into different glasses. It has the fluidity of young brains. When I reached my forties, I figured there are finite ways to drive to work, and then, aren’t there different ways to react to sound or communicate what I would like to eat for dinner? When I write with my opposite hand, the process is the same, and modified. Dropping a smartphone is that way. The sensation of the back of my arm sliding a surface beyond the far side of my wrist makes the same noise if it happens in the right hand or the left. I anticipate a falling object and then something comes to stop it from reaching the ground.
blorgons 