Eventually, But I Digress

Saturday, April 02, 2005

Apart from my other writings, a wholy separate obsession kept in a very well-organized series of frame boxes, I haven't had anything pierce my concentration and affections in a very long time. To be perfectly honest, I usually only hear either the posed question or the punchline for a joke, but never both, as I never allow mindspace for such things. This makes me a very difficult conversationalist, but I am perfectly at ease with this perception, since I am benefited the life of one who's mental intake is very little. (This is in contrast to the abundance of sensory input that most humans depend on and are working to increase.)

I once thought that I was trying to stay frozen in time. I found myself and my handbag of establish theories sitting very well in 1996. Much in part due to a series of wristwatches which wouldn't stay operational, but also incident to the heartbreaking loss of my hound and pheasant-hunting companion, whom I called Biggles. His accusatory gaze often hinted at how wrong my pronounciation must have been, though. His smell was penetrating and not only in finding the quails and roosters with the most rabid heartbeats.

One March, just days before my birthday, I treated myself to a ride in the countryside without agenda, while Biggles guided. We called it Snout The Route. That day my only cue to him was an open-faced roast beef sandwich. His answer was a radish farm, even finding the spot in the gates that had been bruised into wreckage by some crane arm or other.

Now I've come this far without speaking of the wristwatches and I'll do no more to entertain you. This is enough consumption for you today. I have kept the final draft of my ideas intact for a century now and I hate to influence you too quickly.