Saturday, August 04, 2007

Floating Round in the Sky in Pieces

It’s what you don’t know that really matters, all those things just waiting to be thought. Something’s you know you think, but really don’t know at all. Or sometimes it’s thinking that you think you know when all you really know, for sure, that is, is that you’re thinking about thinking those very same things, the things you thought you knew but don’t, never did, really. I get sort of stuck in between, between the things I think I think, the something’s, and the things I think but haven’t really thought, the no-things. Having thoughts is like when you drink an ice-slush too fast and you’re head freezes all up and you feel like you’re going to passout or something. I can do without that sort of shit, honest.

Our scout master was a fat bastard; scout masters are either fat bastards or real skinny ones; ours was the fat bastard kind. Sewing badges on sashes is for sissies and kids that play chess and wear glasses what’re too big for their faces. I’m saying this because if I was to keep it inside I’d explode like a one of those helium dirigibles, and that’d be a shame, me all busted up and floating round in the sky in pieces. Now you can see why I’m not so big on thinking, especially if this is the kind of crap I’m always thinking thoughts about; me all busted-up floating round in the sky wearing way-too big glasses and playing chess with fat kids.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
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