1. Think about lots of different things. They should all be strange. If you find yourself thinking a normal thought, you must start over.
2. Get lost in your thoughts.
3. Return to reality and discover that you're tired.
4. Wander into your bedroom.
5. Discover you're hungry.
6. Wander into the kitchen and forget why you came.
7. Discover you're tired.
8. Wander into the bedroom and forget why you came.
9. Discover you're hungry.
10. Wander into the kitchen and search for food.
11. Get sidetracked into a conversation.
12. Resume search for food.
13. Give up, discover you're tired, and wander into your bedroom.
14. Stare vaguely at the bookcase, thinking hungry thoughts.
15. Wander into the kitchen, search for food, and re-enter previous conversation at new point without realizing it.
16. Become confused.
17. Discover you're tired.
18. Wander into the bedroom and get sidetracked by something ludicrously unimportant until you either wake up again (at which point, return to step one) or fall asleep.
Contributed by Ima N. Somniac.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
A Day in the Life...
...of a Canadian Goose, separated from the flock, honking forlornly...
...would be...
...not as interesting as one might think.
Unless...
...umm....
...I'll come back to that.
In other news, Mom just stuck a banana in my ear. Literally. She threatened to, and I told her she was always threatening things like that, so she actually did it. It was...squishy. We have what one might term a 'strange and wonderful' relationship. That is, it's so strange it makes you wonder...
...what that chicken's doing on the porch, anyway.
Hmm. This seems to be a rather fowl blog. Better than a waterfowl blog, I suppose, but half of it sort of is (the goose half; chickens don't swim that I know of), except that I see geese on the ground more often than in the water. Whatever gave God the idea for a floating bird, anyway? Huh. Pretty cool. DO chickens float? What happens when they're immersed in water? Do they sink, or swim? I would assume they flap violently and cluck a lot...How did I get off on this, anyway?
Ah. It would be MORE interesting than one might think, if the Goose had an imagination. Some of them seem to--more than is good for them. And others are voracious readers, so it doesn't matter all that much, really, whether the Goose has a flock or a herd or not, because regardless, if it's a literate Goose, it...umm...might as well stop reading now, as I have no idea what I'm talking about, and it might start getting Ideas. Like, for example, it might start thinking I'm insane and have no idea what I'm talking about and I just keep talking because I have nothing to say, and besides, I can't hear you. There's a banana in my ear.
It was kind of slimy, too.
...would be...
...not as interesting as one might think.
Unless...
...umm....
...I'll come back to that.
In other news, Mom just stuck a banana in my ear. Literally. She threatened to, and I told her she was always threatening things like that, so she actually did it. It was...squishy. We have what one might term a 'strange and wonderful' relationship. That is, it's so strange it makes you wonder...
...what that chicken's doing on the porch, anyway.
Hmm. This seems to be a rather fowl blog. Better than a waterfowl blog, I suppose, but half of it sort of is (the goose half; chickens don't swim that I know of), except that I see geese on the ground more often than in the water. Whatever gave God the idea for a floating bird, anyway? Huh. Pretty cool. DO chickens float? What happens when they're immersed in water? Do they sink, or swim? I would assume they flap violently and cluck a lot...How did I get off on this, anyway?
Ah. It would be MORE interesting than one might think, if the Goose had an imagination. Some of them seem to--more than is good for them. And others are voracious readers, so it doesn't matter all that much, really, whether the Goose has a flock or a herd or not, because regardless, if it's a literate Goose, it...umm...might as well stop reading now, as I have no idea what I'm talking about, and it might start getting Ideas. Like, for example, it might start thinking I'm insane and have no idea what I'm talking about and I just keep talking because I have nothing to say, and besides, I can't hear you. There's a banana in my ear.
It was kind of slimy, too.
Monday, November 20, 2006
New Information?
I have been informed that I should post a new blog. I have further been informed that I should discuss philosophical insanity, basing my views (or lack thereof) upon my recently-overheard discussion [mostly with myself, except that others were present] of toes and bannisters. However doubtful it may appear to the uninformed, these two things were not connected, except insofar as they happened to be discussed in sequence. The only link was that I was discussing both of them.
However.
This seems to me to be a more than usually unentertaining topic, and I would find it much more amusifying in my current frame of mynde to randomly generate words which make spell-check have a fit.
Therefore.
Thee reyst uv thees blogg shall bordyr onn eencomprehenshibul.
Perhaps.
Never mind. Instead I'll describe my surroundings, and see what comes of it.
Just to my left, there is a tower. It is a relatively small tower, but a lot seems to be going on inside. Outside, too, for that matter. That's too confusing, so for now I'll stay inside. The posts are grey; there are strange tiles on the floor; a grinning skull is set up on a strange sort of altar and crowned with what appears to be a yellow topaz. A black thing I am incapable of identifying hangs down from the ceiling, interfering with passage into the tower, which seems to be only accessible by a wooden hanging bridge. The rocks beyond the tower, as well as those that make up its base, are white. Outside the tower, another skull is displayed, this one with flames shooting up from its head. I'm afraid I fail to grasp the significance of this, so I will move on.
Apparently the green pig to the left of the tower is a bit nervous about his predicament. He is eying the tower in a good-naturedly askance sort of way.
Much farther on, a cat sits in a garden path, his back to me, enjoying what looks like spring. He doesn't seem to realize that if he continues forward, he will eventually stumble upon a highly literate dragon poring over his library.
To my right, a silver castle manages to somehow look homey. It seems a cozy place to spend a winter evening. I wonder if they allow strangers?
I pause and look up, and am swallowed by the Greater Orion Nebula in all its fantastic glory. Clouds of strange gasses swirl around me, light emanates from odd directions, and nothing is as it seems. What kind of God is this, who creates reaches of space so vast they can never be explored, and so mysterious that even if they were examined, they could not be understood? A great God. An awesome God.
Farther to the right, beyond the silver castle, lie purple and black hills. They are soft, but bear a strange resemblance to half an octopus. They are followed by a steep grey-white slope down to the safe green...earth? Hmm. I suppose you could call it that.
And not much came of that, either. Well. That'll teach me to pontificate when I have nothing worth pontificatifying. Or perhaps simply pontifying; I don't know. Is there a pont to all this pointification? I shall content myself by assuming not.
However.
This seems to me to be a more than usually unentertaining topic, and I would find it much more amusifying in my current frame of mynde to randomly generate words which make spell-check have a fit.
Therefore.
Thee reyst uv thees blogg shall bordyr onn eencomprehenshibul.
Perhaps.
Never mind. Instead I'll describe my surroundings, and see what comes of it.
Just to my left, there is a tower. It is a relatively small tower, but a lot seems to be going on inside. Outside, too, for that matter. That's too confusing, so for now I'll stay inside. The posts are grey; there are strange tiles on the floor; a grinning skull is set up on a strange sort of altar and crowned with what appears to be a yellow topaz. A black thing I am incapable of identifying hangs down from the ceiling, interfering with passage into the tower, which seems to be only accessible by a wooden hanging bridge. The rocks beyond the tower, as well as those that make up its base, are white. Outside the tower, another skull is displayed, this one with flames shooting up from its head. I'm afraid I fail to grasp the significance of this, so I will move on.
Apparently the green pig to the left of the tower is a bit nervous about his predicament. He is eying the tower in a good-naturedly askance sort of way.
Much farther on, a cat sits in a garden path, his back to me, enjoying what looks like spring. He doesn't seem to realize that if he continues forward, he will eventually stumble upon a highly literate dragon poring over his library.
To my right, a silver castle manages to somehow look homey. It seems a cozy place to spend a winter evening. I wonder if they allow strangers?
I pause and look up, and am swallowed by the Greater Orion Nebula in all its fantastic glory. Clouds of strange gasses swirl around me, light emanates from odd directions, and nothing is as it seems. What kind of God is this, who creates reaches of space so vast they can never be explored, and so mysterious that even if they were examined, they could not be understood? A great God. An awesome God.
Farther to the right, beyond the silver castle, lie purple and black hills. They are soft, but bear a strange resemblance to half an octopus. They are followed by a steep grey-white slope down to the safe green...earth? Hmm. I suppose you could call it that.
And not much came of that, either. Well. That'll teach me to pontificate when I have nothing worth pontificatifying. Or perhaps simply pontifying; I don't know. Is there a pont to all this pointification? I shall content myself by assuming not.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Perfectly Normal
I just informed my sister I'd decided I was insane.
"You're always deciding you're insane," she said.
Oh. Never mind then. I guess the next step is to decide not to mind that I'm insane.
See, the real problem is that there are just so many of me to keep track of. I don't think it can be done, honestly. Especially when they all decide individually and in completely different time continuums (that should be continui) that they're insane.
There are a lot of things that can't be done, though. And most of them have been done, at some point or another. Variety is the spice of life, right? That must be why there's nothing new under the sun. I wonder if there's anything new over the sun? There's something over the rainbow, but I forget what. Perhaps it was Somewhere. Next time I'm looking for Somewhere, I'll look there.
Where do you find rainbows when you need them? The last one I found was when I was looking for a willow tree. So I guess the next time I need to find Somewhere, I should start looking for a willow tree. I don't know what to do if I want to get Somewhere, though. Or Anywhere, for that matter. Am I getting Anywhere? Maybe for Christmas. Enough already. Good night. Except it's morning, so whatever.
"You're always deciding you're insane," she said.
Oh. Never mind then. I guess the next step is to decide not to mind that I'm insane.
See, the real problem is that there are just so many of me to keep track of. I don't think it can be done, honestly. Especially when they all decide individually and in completely different time continuums (that should be continui) that they're insane.
There are a lot of things that can't be done, though. And most of them have been done, at some point or another. Variety is the spice of life, right? That must be why there's nothing new under the sun. I wonder if there's anything new over the sun? There's something over the rainbow, but I forget what. Perhaps it was Somewhere. Next time I'm looking for Somewhere, I'll look there.
Where do you find rainbows when you need them? The last one I found was when I was looking for a willow tree. So I guess the next time I need to find Somewhere, I should start looking for a willow tree. I don't know what to do if I want to get Somewhere, though. Or Anywhere, for that matter. Am I getting Anywhere? Maybe for Christmas. Enough already. Good night. Except it's morning, so whatever.
Friday, November 10, 2006
I suppose you think it's easy...
...But have you ever tried to milk a mountain goat? I thought so. I tell you, it can't be done. And if you've tried it, you know what I'm talking about. If you've succeeded, then I want to talk to you. Why? So I can tell you you're crazy; you're wasting your time. You'll never get Anywhere Important. And that's all that matters, right? Getting Somewhere Important.
That reminds me: I was in the hall the other day, and I ran into a bookcase. Actually, that was about 10 minutes ago. There wasn't always a bookcase in the hallway, but in this house they multiply like rabbits. I don't think it plans on staying there. At least, I hope it doesn't since it's black and dark is black, and I can't see black in the dark. Generally I can't see much of anything in the dark. Perhaps it's really fire-engine red and only pretending to be black? If those are my choices, I'd much prefer that it be black.
So anyway, after the bookcase attacked me, I forgave it and continued on my way. Because I am a very forgiving person, and there was still room to get around it and into the kitchen. The kitchen is usually the goal. That's because there are bagels in the kitchen. Or there were. I ate them. Not quite all of them yet, but give me a couple days. The problem is, that's all I eat, and we're running low on cream cheese, which is the reason I eat bagels at all, and...well, sadly, the cream cheese is not made with goat milk. What do you expect from me when the mountain goats won't stand still? Sheesh. People these days.
That reminds me: I was in the hall the other day, and I ran into a bookcase. Actually, that was about 10 minutes ago. There wasn't always a bookcase in the hallway, but in this house they multiply like rabbits. I don't think it plans on staying there. At least, I hope it doesn't since it's black and dark is black, and I can't see black in the dark. Generally I can't see much of anything in the dark. Perhaps it's really fire-engine red and only pretending to be black? If those are my choices, I'd much prefer that it be black.
So anyway, after the bookcase attacked me, I forgave it and continued on my way. Because I am a very forgiving person, and there was still room to get around it and into the kitchen. The kitchen is usually the goal. That's because there are bagels in the kitchen. Or there were. I ate them. Not quite all of them yet, but give me a couple days. The problem is, that's all I eat, and we're running low on cream cheese, which is the reason I eat bagels at all, and...well, sadly, the cream cheese is not made with goat milk. What do you expect from me when the mountain goats won't stand still? Sheesh. People these days.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Nothing to Say
Some people might think that having nothing to talk about is a huge drawback. It's actually a benefit. When you don't already have a specific thought taking up all your attention, you are free to wander wherever you please. So whither wander I today? I wonder whether I wander whither something strange might happen? Well, that sentence did, and that was fairly strange...but not as strange as some I've seen. I'll spare you for now, since I'm feeling generous.
It's rather dark in here. But that's what happens when you turn off all the lights. I mean, that's what's always happened before, and it seems to still work that way. Yes, I should be sleeping. Get over it, already.
Once upon a time, there was a young man who left his home to seek his fortune. He didn't have as many adventures as he hoped, but the ones he did have were mostly full of boring technicalities. He finally gave up the life of an adventurer and built an inn on the side of a mountain. It was a strange location for an inn, and everyone said so. But as it turned out, he had a fair number of guests, so perhaps his judgment wasn't so bad after all. The Inn turned out to be quite an exciting place...more things happened in the main room of the Inn than had ever happened to the Innkeeper in all his wanderings beforehand.
The Innkeeper figures no more in this story at present, but we shall meet him again later, perhaps.
It's rather dark in here. But that's what happens when you turn off all the lights. I mean, that's what's always happened before, and it seems to still work that way. Yes, I should be sleeping. Get over it, already.
Once upon a time, there was a young man who left his home to seek his fortune. He didn't have as many adventures as he hoped, but the ones he did have were mostly full of boring technicalities. He finally gave up the life of an adventurer and built an inn on the side of a mountain. It was a strange location for an inn, and everyone said so. But as it turned out, he had a fair number of guests, so perhaps his judgment wasn't so bad after all. The Inn turned out to be quite an exciting place...more things happened in the main room of the Inn than had ever happened to the Innkeeper in all his wanderings beforehand.
The Innkeeper figures no more in this story at present, but we shall meet him again later, perhaps.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Rational Thoughts
I was musing on a muse, and it was amusing. But, I mused, what could I do with it? It wouldn't stay hung on the wall, or sit quietly in the corner...honestly, it gave me nearly as much trouble as Samantha, my old elephant. I finally got rid of her on the advice of a friend, but now this muse comes barging in, amuses the life out of me, and insists on turning my socks inside out. What am I supposed to do with a muse like that? Aside from being amused, I mean. Seriously...it even ate my nachos. I don't know if I like this muse so well. I should find something else to muse about...
Perhaps the chair. But which chair? There are so many choices. I could muse about the one next to me, if I got up and walked around it. Or if I draped myself over it somehow, or curled up around one of its legs. I suppose that's technically about, but it's really more around. Shall I muse around it? That sure seems like a lot of work. I'm in a chair now, but am I really in it...in, but not of, perhaps. Has anyone ever mused of a chair? In a chair, now...that's been done. Entirely too often, by the looks of things. I don't think they get mused of very often, though. And if you really want to get technical (why do you, anyway?) I'm actually sitting ON this chair, not in it. I could muse on a chair. I guess technically I am. Okay then.
But that still doesn't answer the question about what in the world that yellow broom is doing knocking on the window. I may not know who holds the future, but I think I know who holds the broom. Actually, I do know who holds the future, and I know Him personally, as well. But ask not for whom the broom wholds....woah. Now there's a cool word. What am I to do with it? It's kind of like whorl, only knot. So there.
Hmm. It's still snowing. If the wind were howling, I could say the weather was snowling. But it's not, so I won't. The birds don't seem to care about all of this, or even for any one point in particular. Except the snow. I would assume they care about that, perhaps too much, but they're handling it well. It's very pretty, regardless of who cares what about it. What do you care about it? I'm curious. Notice, please, that I'm asking what, not why. Diolch.
I wonder if a chair's ever been mused over. I wonder if a chair's ever been amused? They could be amused over something, but what would that something be? What in the whorl would amuse a chair? Perhaps a whorl would amuse a chair, but it would depend on the kind of whorl. An insubstantial one, out in space somewhere, wouldn't do it, I don't think. And they have no use for cotton candy, or whorled peas...or is that whirled? Whirled. Yes. Visualize that, why don't you. I don't. Why not? It's been done, that's why.
If this snow were moving faster, it would qualify as whorling, perhaps. If not simply whirling. But as it is, it's not even swirling. So we have swirl and whirl, but how come whorl and not sworl? What does sworl mean? Is it anything akin to whold? Hmm. The chair's not responding. Where's Sarah when I need her? Or tech support? I can't hit CTRL+ALT+DEL because its keyboard's not hooked up. Oh well. Defective chair. It will just sit here and look ornamental, I guess. Although at the moment I fail to grasp what's so ornamental about a brown folding chair. I do have my moments, but I guess this isn't one of them.
I have no profound thoughts to close with; I used them all up in the intro. So now I'm trying to decide whether to make something up and call it profound or to just not close at all. Decisions, decisions...hmm....
I suppose I could close on a thought and leave you to wonder whether or not it was going to be profound, but that would involve
Perhaps the chair. But which chair? There are so many choices. I could muse about the one next to me, if I got up and walked around it. Or if I draped myself over it somehow, or curled up around one of its legs. I suppose that's technically about, but it's really more around. Shall I muse around it? That sure seems like a lot of work. I'm in a chair now, but am I really in it...in, but not of, perhaps. Has anyone ever mused of a chair? In a chair, now...that's been done. Entirely too often, by the looks of things. I don't think they get mused of very often, though. And if you really want to get technical (why do you, anyway?) I'm actually sitting ON this chair, not in it. I could muse on a chair. I guess technically I am. Okay then.
But that still doesn't answer the question about what in the world that yellow broom is doing knocking on the window. I may not know who holds the future, but I think I know who holds the broom. Actually, I do know who holds the future, and I know Him personally, as well. But ask not for whom the broom wholds....woah. Now there's a cool word. What am I to do with it? It's kind of like whorl, only knot. So there.
Hmm. It's still snowing. If the wind were howling, I could say the weather was snowling. But it's not, so I won't. The birds don't seem to care about all of this, or even for any one point in particular. Except the snow. I would assume they care about that, perhaps too much, but they're handling it well. It's very pretty, regardless of who cares what about it. What do you care about it? I'm curious. Notice, please, that I'm asking what, not why. Diolch.
I wonder if a chair's ever been mused over. I wonder if a chair's ever been amused? They could be amused over something, but what would that something be? What in the whorl would amuse a chair? Perhaps a whorl would amuse a chair, but it would depend on the kind of whorl. An insubstantial one, out in space somewhere, wouldn't do it, I don't think. And they have no use for cotton candy, or whorled peas...or is that whirled? Whirled. Yes. Visualize that, why don't you. I don't. Why not? It's been done, that's why.
If this snow were moving faster, it would qualify as whorling, perhaps. If not simply whirling. But as it is, it's not even swirling. So we have swirl and whirl, but how come whorl and not sworl? What does sworl mean? Is it anything akin to whold? Hmm. The chair's not responding. Where's Sarah when I need her? Or tech support? I can't hit CTRL+ALT+DEL because its keyboard's not hooked up. Oh well. Defective chair. It will just sit here and look ornamental, I guess. Although at the moment I fail to grasp what's so ornamental about a brown folding chair. I do have my moments, but I guess this isn't one of them.
I have no profound thoughts to close with; I used them all up in the intro. So now I'm trying to decide whether to make something up and call it profound or to just not close at all. Decisions, decisions...hmm....
I suppose I could close on a thought and leave you to wonder whether or not it was going to be profound, but that would involve
Friday, October 20, 2006
In a novel not being written, there is a high and stormy mountian. It is a chain of mountains, actually--vast, razor-sharp peaks soaring skyward. The particular mountain in question is often angry, battering itself and all about it with snow and ice and hail and lightning. Sometimes it subsides into a sullen fog, wrapped in merciless cold.
There was a traveler who tried to climb this mountain once. He made it much farther than he should have, but finally--worn out, gasping, frozen--he came to the end and collapsed, clawing vainly, at The Door he sought.
But then what happened? Did a hand reach out at the Last Minute and save him--pulling him inside The Door to warmth and light and life? Or if he Entered after all, was it to new challenges, and perhaps once more to Despair? Or did he sleep eternally there on the mountain, to be covered by snow and ice and nevermore remembered? Did he leave anyone behind who would miss him when he was gone? Would they look for him--call for him, perhaps--and sorrow when he could not be found? Or was there no one--no one at all--to even notice that someone's place was empty?
We shall never know, perhaps, as the novel is not being written.
There was a traveler who tried to climb this mountain once. He made it much farther than he should have, but finally--worn out, gasping, frozen--he came to the end and collapsed, clawing vainly, at The Door he sought.
But then what happened? Did a hand reach out at the Last Minute and save him--pulling him inside The Door to warmth and light and life? Or if he Entered after all, was it to new challenges, and perhaps once more to Despair? Or did he sleep eternally there on the mountain, to be covered by snow and ice and nevermore remembered? Did he leave anyone behind who would miss him when he was gone? Would they look for him--call for him, perhaps--and sorrow when he could not be found? Or was there no one--no one at all--to even notice that someone's place was empty?
We shall never know, perhaps, as the novel is not being written.
So I was in the hospital a few weeks ago for surgery...
They asked me all sorts of intrusive questions. Name, age, gender, favorite color, bank password, mother's maiden name... you name it, they asked it. But they did get a bit more personal after they'd admitted me (which means that they finally had enough information to admit I existed and, most importantly, could pay them). The health questions I could understand. But then...
"Do you live alone?" No.
"Who[m] do you live with?" Parents.
"Is that your dad?" Yes.
"Are you religious?" well, not the way you mean it, but... Yes.
"Would you care to put down your religious affiliation?" Christian.
"Do you or have you suffered from depression?" ironically, I wouldn't have answered this way (due to ignorance) a few years ago, when it was actually a Problem, but... Yes.
"Where do you get your emotional support?" ...mostly from God... Family. (Dad's addendum: And friends.)
"Do you feel safe at home?" ...say what???... oh yeah; the rest of the world has problems... Yes.
"Is there any chance you might be pregnant?" ...a resounding... NO.
"Do you smoke?" No.
"Drink?" No.
"Any other drugs?" No. ...people admit that kind of thing now?...
At this point, the nurse looked up at me and smiled sympathetically. "If your answers to any of these questions change later, just let me know."
Excuse me??? Now society expects that I not only do these things, but lie about them with a straight face, in a semi-legal setting, in front of my parents??? Argh. Perhaps it is how most of society functions, but I find it a bit ridiculous. I think what most disturbs me is that they simply take it as a matter of course that I could be lying.
Well, I wasn't, and I ain't gonna; but apparently bureaucracy no longer believes that.
They asked me all sorts of intrusive questions. Name, age, gender, favorite color, bank password, mother's maiden name... you name it, they asked it. But they did get a bit more personal after they'd admitted me (which means that they finally had enough information to admit I existed and, most importantly, could pay them). The health questions I could understand. But then...
"Do you live alone?" No.
"Who[m] do you live with?" Parents.
"Is that your dad?" Yes.
"Are you religious?" well, not the way you mean it, but... Yes.
"Would you care to put down your religious affiliation?" Christian.
"Do you or have you suffered from depression?" ironically, I wouldn't have answered this way (due to ignorance) a few years ago, when it was actually a Problem, but... Yes.
"Where do you get your emotional support?" ...mostly from God... Family. (Dad's addendum: And friends.)
"Do you feel safe at home?" ...say what???... oh yeah; the rest of the world has problems... Yes.
"Is there any chance you might be pregnant?" ...a resounding... NO.
"Do you smoke?" No.
"Drink?" No.
"Any other drugs?" No. ...people admit that kind of thing now?...
At this point, the nurse looked up at me and smiled sympathetically. "If your answers to any of these questions change later, just let me know."
Excuse me??? Now society expects that I not only do these things, but lie about them with a straight face, in a semi-legal setting, in front of my parents??? Argh. Perhaps it is how most of society functions, but I find it a bit ridiculous. I think what most disturbs me is that they simply take it as a matter of course that I could be lying.
Well, I wasn't, and I ain't gonna; but apparently bureaucracy no longer believes that.