Head-Trip

 Particularly when having imbibed in any of a number of chemical solutions ranging from Jack Daniels and Coors boilermakers to the ethyl-methyl-hydromethorilate-bromile-badshit or whatever that your preferred herbage is currently soaked in, I find that when one repeats a word a lot it loses all connection with English or, for that matter, to any meaning at all.

Head Trip. Head. Trip. Head? Trip? head trip. headtrip. headtrip. headtrip. headtripheadtrip. headtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtriphead. triphead. ripheadtrip.

Don't ask. That was the last one that had all the meaning hammered out of it some many years ago during a long night you'll never hear about, and to this day when I hear the phrase, it takes a minute to connect it up to whichever cerebular protein group represents some English-type meaning. It's almost a foreign word (phrase?) that I have to stop and translate - and, in case you didn't know it, all words are subject to that kind of flattening-to-nonsense by close examination and repetition.

The problem is that since I'm a linear thinker, when things get my attention I tend to analyze them to death, or at least until the quest to find the meaning or straight-line cause and effect denatures them to transparency. Which problem crawled up my ass last night as I was considering writing in this blog. 

Why, I asked myself, do I bother to write a blog? The answer is that it gives me pleasure. But why? Because it amuses me to get my thoughts down, and occasionally read. But mostly to amuse myself. But why? Can't you just amuse yourself without having to do the work of writing the shit down? No. It's different when I see it on the page. But why?

headtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtrip
headtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtrip
headtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtripheadtrip

And, just like that, I completely lost grip on why I do it or how it could conceivably be anything but a pain in the ass.

I've got the urge back this morning. But even now, I get the flashes of "Really? And this matters...how?"

This is not the first time I've pulled this little trick on myself. Seems like I'd have learned the lesson by now.: Self examination has its limits. When something amuses you or gives you pleasure, and more than likely won't kill or damage you, just fucking do it and stop prodding around trying to figure out how it works.

Curiosity, cats, and like that are suddenly in mind, and buried deep in the core of my left brain, my logic center is amused. For no apparent reason.

In Our Next Episode: More navel-gazing.

Wait. What do you mean it has to be MY navel? Oh. Well, we aren't going to be doing that. Something else, then.