Brane

The past few days have felt like I'm sticking my ear into a cauldron. I feel as if there's something important kicking around in my head, but it's stubbornly refusing to enter into consciousness. So all I catch is glimpses. This happens whenever in the course of daily life I have a "this would make an awesome one-act play!" or "this reflects the magnificence of the mundane!" moment. And those moments have become more frequent lately. I can't remember specific examples, but all I know is mini-arcs are coming to me practically unbidden (this is wrong, of course; it's all eventualyl attributable to some automated meaning-crunching processes in the preconsious mind). But I feel as if I can't act on them, write them down, develop them, until I get an idea of the larger whole they comprise. What part of that sentiment involves perfectionism and what part involves laziness? To use a physics analogy: I'm having no problem understanding strings, but higher-dimensional branes are giving me difficulty.

But why subject the reader to these concerns? Maybe the reader will inadverdently provide me with some sort of trigger word that completes the cascade, kind of like my personal NO synthase, to release the unconventional signal. I apologize for the overwrought analogies that, upon closer inspection, don't really work.

Closing remarks: I am not an ecologically valid human being; I want to be a masculine mountain of a man, but I also loathe that slim possibility; I'm stuck in a catch-22 when it comes to making music; I am consciously nursing a caffeine addiction; I like trees and babies, but not for the reasons you might think.

Consider: "First we thought the PC was a calculator. Then we found out how to turn numbers into letters with ASCII — and we thought it was a typewriter. Then we discovered graphics, and we thought it was a television. With the World Wide Web, we've realized it's a brochure."