I left my brain on the pillow

 

In the absence of any dreams about which to write, gripes are usually what come to mind. I don't have anything to offer in that department. Nothing bursting today, no drama to spill. There isn't even any news, trivial, informational, fluff or filler, nothing of any human interest.  

I can't even get myself charged up to write about any of the philosophical yin- yang universe mumbo-jumbo that usually comes naturally to me. 

I'm not mad. 

I'm not sad.

I'm not bitter.

I'm not passionate.

I'm not excited.

I'm not motivated.

I don't have clarity, but I'm not confused.

I'm not disgusted, but I'm not amused.

I'm not concerned about my persona, my tone.

I don't have a bone to pick with anyone.

I'm falling into some dumb rhyming scheme, unintentionally.

Now I'm going to be conscious of that and knock it off right now.

I'm not writing a song.

I'm not telling a story.

I don't have a purpose, other than to just exist.

I guess.

I don't know.

I'm not asking the question, "What's it all about?"

I'm pretty sure, if no one else has the answer, 

I'm not going to be the one to figure it out.

I'm not going to be the one to shout "Eureka!"

I'm trying to see patterns, like we human machines do.

But keeping within them isn't what I'm setting out to achieve.

Neither is breaking them all, indiscriminately.

I'm not trying to meditate, or actively procrastinate.

I guess mental drain cleaning is what I'm doing.

But not because I'm stuck or have some clog. 

Stuff flows in, stuff flows out just fine, when it does.

A simple sieve, no filter. 

Nothing will stick in there for long

Just collect for a bit,

Then disintegrate and wash away.

That's me.

Collector of big chunks, whittler down of matter.

User of resources, unsure if that's even a purpose,

I don't even know that I care to indulge,

In words of a descriptive nature.

What questions do I have for the Magic 8 Ball?

I can't think of a single one.

I'm trying to decide whether I generate anything at all,

Or if every single thought, idea and contribution of mine,

Is somehow derivative?

A reconstituted regurgitation of someone else's original work.

Maybe that's why I intentionally fuck shit up.

Like punk rock.

I can't create something nice and melodic,

And this frustrates me. 

So I thrash and trash everything.

Try to be awful, obnoxious,

Be loud, unstructured, rebel.

At least have one original thought.

For God's sake, Andrew, something.

Clearly, paragraphs, sentences and convention,

Are not on my to do list today.

But what is? 

More of the same, I guess.

Routines and chores. 

Minding the store, too bored to even daydream.

I would write down some affirmations,

But we all know I'd never buy into or believe them.

But the idea is sound.

If I am going to be on the receiving end of inbound transmissions

Messages of self-denigration or crippling fear,

Or of any other such unwanted ideas

Popping into my head,

Or out of it, subconsciously, semi-consciously, or overtly 

Invented by me,

The least I could do, is create some fiction

Or make some challenging statements.

Give the bulls a run for their money.

But I'm not certain I can stand on the train tracks and stop the train,

If the train doesn't want to stop.

Right now, however, there is no train.

I don't even know if I'm on the tracks, 

Or if there are any tracks at all.

It's just kind of quiet, and I'm only

Whistling in the dark.

There are quite a few "I"s in this soup.

More than anyone might imagine possible

For someone so uncertain of their own existence.

If, and that's a question -- 

If I exist, is it solely in my own head? 

Is there evidence of an external nature to 

Validate the proposition that I am?

Sworn testimony can be 

Subjective at best

Presupposing that any of us exist,

Who's word can be taken as true,

And by whom?

Is there anybody out there?

Is there anybody in there?

Where is the there, 

And which is the which than which there is no whicher?

Alan Watts gets credit for that one,

But I don't know if he'd ultimately say that he invented the phrase

Being that we are supposedly all just parts of the big IT

His particular expression of IT

Was called by his name

And so, I am called by mine

Does it mean anything?

Does it have to?

Does there have to be a why?

Does there have to be anything?

It has been one hour,

As measured in earth time

Since I began this exercise.

Now I will exercise my free will and

Conclude for the day.

Exercise my body, then feed it.

Then sit and try to think of something meaningful

Or otherwise

To do in a day.