Blue Skies, Yellow desert, and a skull with a mohawk

I could hear the words steam past my mouth... but they didn't add up... What did I just say?  Gauging my listeners reaction, I seemed to have said something intelligible.  Like running on a collapsing bridge... one step just barley escaping a pitfall into the dark mental abyss of nothingness.  All too familiar a feeling, but its a little different this time.  I don't seem to care as much about the loss of control... but enough to still push the endeavor.  Many times that genesis was the eventual result in giving up to a self-futility in enacting my will.  Why bother saying anything at all?  Like chasing a moving car, eventually the car gets far enough away that you give up and stop running after it. Sae la vie, or so it goes.

This time it feels less abrupt... that for a moment I can reach back down into the pool of my mind and grab that fish that's trying to swim away.  And success is had in recapitulating the idea into something that I can remember instead of a slew of abstract feelings associated with the idea that melts into a fading dream that one can never quite recreate fully in one's head.  Is that our world is too dense, too slow, to realize some of the quicksilver notions that stream past it's peripheral?  How do I pull that candy colored sky and those mechanized cartoon washing machines back into something I can focus on tangibly?  I suppose there will always be some downgrading of resolution when it comes to these things but dammit Im a human and I try despite what seems to be the reality of the case.  That you can't really reconstruct a dream as it rests in the seat of your consciousness.  Less that reconstruction is a step toward synthesizing something new.

I mean I suppose its rather a rubicon of sorts when you realize the nature of language is something much more mysterious than we accept in our lives.  That simple logical hardness of the written word that solidifies an idea into a thought, into a solid notion, is a mere construction of your perception rather than an apriori thing that exists in the ether.  And with that, one extrapolates the idea that language stems beyond just mere spoken words but to our experience of the world as a whole.  That is, our perception is a language that informs us of the world at large. Everything (we percieve) is language.  Language is an abstraciton.   Forever chasing our own tail back to its beginning.

So what's the hook?  Chasing the unknown... trying to accomplish the impossible.  Set your sites high and be grateful for whatever you can scrape up from the attempt at something that is way over your head. The world is one big experience collecting machine scouring the four corners to find out everything it possibly can about existence.  Don't stop too long on a square... it'll just change into a pool of water.