Thoughts whirl by in a blur. Every now and then one slows enough to come into focus. Synapse and off it goes, replaced by a tangential thought that arrives amoeba style. Morning becomes confusion.
Coffee. The rocket fuel of the Age of Enlightenment. Stimulus for focusing.
Forgotten, though, is the original intent amid the flurry of offspring.
Perhaps more stimulation, adjusting the chemicals in the brain, will bring clarity of thought, lucidity.
Such is the intent of the junkie. Lucidity and the warm embrace of security and peace. Opiates especially, provide this motherly illusion with dynamic physical certainty. Oxycontin, a synthetic opiate, has created more than one Oxymoron searching for security, peace, and happiness.
Too early for linear thought.
Gushing oil
Billowing clouds
Under water
In a blue sky
Vicious brutality
Delicate webs of sound
Over
About Me
- Philo
- Mostly, I guess, really, I mean usually, the majority of the time, within reason and without cause, I am very direct. I neither palaver nor prevaricate although, mostly, with some variations, I do augment the truth sometimes without getting to any serious point whatsoever. Sometimes not. I like words. English words usually since it is both my mother and father tongue. I like Spanish words with multiple r's and the lost letters in French as well as the jarring nature of German and the flow of vowel rich Russian.
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