My Brain Has A Mind Of Its Own

I think about stuff. I don’t necessarily want to. Annie accuses me of thinking “big thoughts”. Me? Not so much. I think of what pops into my mind as mostly pollution. I don’t invite it.





And often it’s just damn annoying.

Like when I woke up this morning, what was the first crap to come pouring out of this grey mass between my ears?

McNamara’s Band.

What celestial alignment of molecules could have possibly caused this seemingly random bizarre item to bubble up into my consciousness? And how improbable is it that I would be here typing a description of this event into some equally incomprehensibly complex network of bits and bytes for you (whoever you are) to scan the characters on a monitor and gain some sort of understanding (whatever that is) of an event that may well be nothingness anyway? That’s a run on question. But as the poem says:


sitting here a zazen refugee
the mystery of the universe
but why is it surprising?
when there is everything


I prefer to believe what comes pouring out is really uncorrelated noise. And with the infinite number of monkeys and typewriters (or word processors) , well, you get my drift. And when you have infinity, you have infinite possibilities, and therefore isn’t this particular existence I seem to be involved in possible as well?

I digress.

I don’t have big thoughts. I’m inconsequential.


I struggle to understand why I am cursed with these views that sometime turn out to be insightful. It happens too often and it’s disturbing when it does.

My brain effluent sometimes sounds like raving arrogance. For example:

“I understand how to solve climate change and eliminate poverty. Unequivocally.”

Build a worldwide CVAWT network.

That’s Cellular Vertical Axis Wind Turbine.

It’s so perfectly clear. I’m baffled why it has not been done by now. But no one believes me. Why should anyone take me seriously? I have no education, no qualifications. I’m just another autodidactic blowhard lunatic.

Wind turbines and power distribution grids are designed all wrong. They are backward. The answer is childishly simple.

I just see it. Right there. It’s all so obvious. I understand how to do it right down to the smallest detail.

I wouldn’t even charge a dime for my ideas. It compassion that motivates me. But I am used to all the patronizing by now. No fowl.

It saddens me for the loss of such possibilities.

It gets worse.

I understand why we are here.

I even coined a name for it.

“The Prime Commandment”

Wanna hear it?

Perhaps another time.

You will just laugh at me.

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