Or rather, Combatting Brain Fuzz
This morning... afternoon really... but morning so it seemed I made muffins. No it was in the morning. Definitely. But whatever the clock was doing I made muffins off a recipe I've done a few times and after adding the milk (soymilk) looked down and thought jeeze. It was supposed to be 1/2 cup and I added 1 and then saw no, it was 1, and
Brain fuzz. I could blame the condition on school or the economy or the first colorful touches of fall.... I could identify with the worms that don't seem to know where dirt is and end up on pavement. Once you get past the squishy slimy image.... the term "gray matter" for brain works. Having gone back to school, I've been thinking about thinking a lot lately. Contemplating tree growth is one thing, answering questions on a test is something totally else. And grayness has an ill defined edge... it peters out into the vastness of the surrounding universe like the edge of light in a city night.
And it occurs to me while running for the train yet again, as my modus operandi for life seems to dictate in a vague subconcious hope of exercise motivation I'm sure.... It occurs to me that political elections could be a dream sequence within the 4 minute standard of youtube consumption with the candidates standing by a horse race finish line as the pounding of powerful forces surge by into the fog of a non-delinieated future. Just a thought. Not yet asked for on the slips of print smeared paper that grade abcense of pain as well as visual acuity and mental desperation.
Paper that assigns values to words created within the past 10 to 20 years like figments like "hyperlink" properties count, yanked from its root of ancient greeks in tunics writing core stories whose images linger... like the child holding a prism up to the light, turning it slowly, watching the colors live. Prometheus light...
"In the Myth of Syphysus, Camus ended it with the vision of Syphysus on the coast, watching the sea. He'd defied the gods and traded an eternity of damnation and rolling rocks up hills for one perfect day on the beach. And Camus asked the question - was it worth it?" *quote*