Ego Sum Rabidus

It is difficult for me to explain myself. Though, words avalanche out from my mouth, rarely do they form any clear example, let alone a concise one. The same goes for my quieter thoughts, the ones stuck in that funnel between brain matter and tongue. I can draw conclusions like a P.M.S'ing 10th grader, not a damn one makes a lick of sense. Sometimes, I feel like one of those ancient Greek sons-a-bitches, connecting dots between arbitrary stars - my fellow sandled astronomers scratching their heads, unable to conjecture what "shape" I am seeing. At any rate, I am clearly a fan of wild tangents.

As of late, I have been wondering about knowledge. It is a hobby of mine, I suppose, to glean as much knowledge as possible from nearby sources, be they wikipedia or somebody who has just read the Economist, and to do so as passively and tired as possible. I am unsure as to whether I have aversion towards the act of reading, or I am simply lazy. Either way, the thought crossed my starry scape of grey matter, "What if a someone found the pan-Ultimate stockpile of knowledge, thus instantaniously having revealed all answers to be known?" However, there is a caveate, as I am want to enjoy little twists and plot devices. The catch is, this newly omniscience comes with the downside of the Knower also becoming utterly incapable of communication.

How does a person feel when he understands? On the contrary, at some point, wouldn't the man begin to question his logic? If he knows, understands, is able to perceive a notion, but is at the same moment unable to explain himself, to share his logic, how does such a paradox occur? Even a little understanding seems as though it would endow aptitude for communication.

Sometimes, I question whether the little lady and I still love one another. The delusions take hold and close the curtains. I will rant and pace, foam at the mouth, for hours about whether it's truly daylight or not. I can't even tell what time it is!? Look here, the daylight is coming fast through the window. My tired washing machine just worked up a good sweat and is now yelling at me with a drawn out beep to say the job is done. I hear that owl, or whatever it is, calling /hooting outside. Surely, people are gearing up for a Saturday morning Mall fiasco. Also, I just now re-read one of her blogs from a few months ago about kissing.

I suppose it's about time to go for bed, at 7 1/2 o'clock. I suppose the curtains are drawn and open again.