I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Wednesday, 26 June 2013

LINKS AND BREAKS (a.k.a. An Over Analytical Mind Speaks Out)

Why? What are you thinking of when you do that? Pull out the chair like that? I see you're sitting down, I suppose it's because you're tired. Tired and conditioned. Not that social conditioning is necessarily a bad thing, we're all vulnerable to it, guilty of it. It's a poison in the sky.

            But why? Why is that? Why did I pick that particular metaphor? Now I'm wondering about poison, how it floats in the air sometimes. Contagion. I like etymology but I've only just picked it up. It...stimulates me. I'll have a go anyway.

            Contagion: sounds like contain, like containing everyone, everything. I hear age in there too so I'm guessing that means it lasts a spell. And gion - John? Join? Brings us together. In the sickness.

            This is fun, this works. Let's do condition too. Con - problem. Dish - container. Contain again, meaning everyone. Tion. A corruption of 'gion' or maybe the purest form of the word? Either way, it means all together again.

            I'll stop now. Stop. The word ends itself. Plosive, right? I remember that. I love that.

            You see, things get smaller and smaller. And smaller and smaller. First I trim for fun then I cut out of pure curiosity and then I'm just hacking away. Hacking like mad, slashing, sculpting. I get so close but then I cross my eyes too much and realise how far down I've gotten. I pull away because I'm scared. I'm only a child.

            But like a child I can't stay away for very long. There are questions that need to be investigated, questions so tiny they're dots in the dark. Yes, that's halfway decent. They're pin pricks. No wait, they're dots. You can't say much about a dot.

            I try to speak but not too much. Too much thinking sets the ball off. Not a ball, a big rolling splodge that goes all over the place, then straight down. It trickles down. Tricky down.

            Who decides what a trick is? How do you know? Is it anything but the truth? Can people be tricks? I've always pursued this. Tricks. Try. Icks.  Trying for icks and other sounds. Hurt sounds. Tricky sounds.

            Now why did you just do that? You folded your arms. What is it like to have arms to fold? Legs to cross? I have arms, I have legs, I cross and I fold but what about you? Enjoy it? Don't take it personally, all things baffle me. My eyes, my brain baffle me most. They show me links and breaks and they themselves are just links and breaks.

            The universe lunges at me. I shrink and shrink and shrink again because nothing can cover me, not if I consider it. Instead I think of the words.

            Baffle. Bafflement. Baf into bath. Fle into full. Ment into meant into meaning. The bath is filled with meaning. The container.

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