Mumbling to Myself in the Morning

The amusing jumble that is my mind makes for good times. Laughing the whole way as I attempt to make heads of tails of any given thought at any given moment. It contorts so well, a gymnast making shapes on a floor while taking Yoga lessons. The true contortionist -- and I wonder as to the why's or the how's but never get an answer. And if the glinting of an answer is to be had, it only makes way for the bulldozer and paving crew as they make an in-way for more questions. Lest we forget that the mind is a funny thing, the questions are all comical, as all questions are. A why here, a how there, with puzzling little question-marks in tow like ducklings following a mother. Only they're crossing a highway and being squashed by passing vehicle traffic. All my questions, smashed and turned to gunk -- a pile of gunk on the side of the road with fast congealing blood and rotting paraphernalia. But talking about these questions, attempting to reveal what they are, there's no fun in that. Just musing about them being there and why I have no answers is more interesting. I could seek out answers, or wait for answers, or never even attempt to find answers. Regardless, some are answered, others are not.

So as it may seem that I have an answer to the whim of a question, I in fact do not.

And now I'm off to go write something else...that needs answers to questions. How's and why's and where's and what's and who's and when's. Extrapolations of ideas and musings and inklings and thoughts rolling into a massive compilation of jargon. A mishmash of technical literalnesses that could make sense and won't make sense but just might make sense. But only to someone with an eye for it. Forget reading between the lines.