Thought is Not a substance
A blog entry without substance, meaning, or relevance. Something to let the three individuals who manage to keep my “number of followers” log above zero know I still exist. It’s also nice to remind myself of that fact occasionally.
I write from the catacombs of my library, slightly bewildered, as always. Surrounded by shelves upon shelves of astounding books, journals, manuscripts, magazines, broadsides, pamphlets and everything else the alphabet has ever been entrusted with. And I am mad, mad with delight, or perhaps, simply mad.
I have been keeping a low profile since the autumnal equinox (aequus nox), hoping to slip unnoticed between the cracks in the sidewalk. When I turn quickly to the left or right I notice that I cast no shadow, or else my shadow is flagrantly failing to respect the laws of both physical and quantum optics. Some might call that heresy.
Holidays come and go, then come again. And every year there seems to be yet another occasion or two to celebrate. Mammon is happy, even hiring additional accountants. Meanwhile, outside in the bulrushes, the true fabricators and followers of the new holidays indulge in extravagant behavior - drain the city dry, numb to most everything of relevance as they create their new ideology.
To turn upside down is often to turn inside out. Not a particularly bad thing in these days of impotent rage and collective sheep bahh’ing, which accomplishes nothing.
And yet, something of substance may yet evolve - say the optimists (totally out of touch, or reach).
Me? I’m turning and turning in the widening gyre and taking swimming lessons.
