Sunday, October 17, 2010

I Think Thinking about Thinking might be Thinking too much.

I don't like heart attacks. When people grab their left arms. He said it's pain unlike any other, but I don't remember the exact words. [I try to imagine it but it's hard to imagine something you don't know what it's like.] That's why I talked to my cat, you know, that's dead. Maybe it would have been different talking to a person. [I try to imagine who that would be, but I don't know.] I don't even remember who it was I talked to. If I breathe into this stuffed tiger, will it get lots of germs that will mold and give me diseases next time I breathe in it? I wonder if therapy works. If it's like talking to any other stranger or if there's actually some science in there somewhere.

[I see myself in the mirror I pass by.] I haven't looked in a mirror all day but I look pretty decent for an unplanned stay-at-home outfit. My haircut sort of failed. It looks good when I fix it but I'm usually too lazy. Wearing headphones make the sides look silly. I should try to write down the thing with the dude. If I write it in pieces it might work, but I might be too lazy to fill in the blanks later. There could be different sorts of powered humans, by science and by... I need to figure out how demon powers work. Like tesla? [I fold up the hood of my sweater and look in the mirror again.] Hair looks totally cool like this. I should brush my teeth after dinner too. Hm, although this was dinner.

[My roomie is going to do laundry, I peek out of the bathroom. She looks me funny and leaves.] Maybe she wondered why I had my hood on in the bathroom? Maybe I imagined she looked at my funny. If she got kidnapped I wouldn't notice if I go to sleep now. I should stay awake until she's done. "Don't get kidnapped by aliens," is what I should say to her. I wonder if that's code for me being worried but unable to say something more sensible. This is silly.

I could write a poem. I haven't done that in a while. I woke up ahead of the alarm this morning, so I'm not setting it now. Poems are annoying and inspiration-dependent. [I hear my roomie come back, I've closed the door to my room.] Now I didn't tell her to not get kidnapped by aliens. If she is kidnapped and murdered, when I find out, I'll think "why didn't I tell her to not get kidnapped by aliens", and if people could know that, they'd think I was a very odd person.

I wonder why people think people think odd things. Doesn't everyone have these kind of thought-chains? Is it really anything to be excited about? I enjoy being amused by my own brain. Fuck poetry. I should write this on my blog instead before sleep. Where should I start?


Rik said...

Twinkling streams of consciousness trickle down the mountain. It's like a great big slowly-melting glacier of thought.

Well written.

Jesson Balaoing said...

great thought... nice post!