I need to write this morning with only the vaguest idea of where I am heading. I know it will involve dogs, our mortality, superstition, addiction and a few other topics. I want to tie stuff together, in a way, connect some dots, make little packages of wisdom or knowledge that are readily available on the shelves of my blog, something I do for myself every day while thinking pretentiously that it serves mankind.
My blog is read by a few friends and family members, my own window on ‘mankind’, but so what? We are a collaborative species, aren’t we?
If you ever took a dog walking you know that they are seeking with their wet noses scents and other artifacts that could reveal a prey, something edible for the entire family of which they are. Even bees do their little song and dance to tell each other where the flowers are.
So here I am this morning with my nose wet for something revealing, fingers dancing on the keyboard.
But what exactly? Let’s ramble on until it materializes.
The topic of addiction would be a good start, said he while lighting a second cigarette after a third gulp of that great cappuccino. Whoops, I forgot the cinnamon, the only food substance that, according to recent science, is a true aphrodisiac. As opposed to false aphrodisiacs, the ‘true’ variety actually raises the level of testosterone in men. So I am going to wait a few minutes until I feel a surge of manhood in myself before I tackle anything of substance. Aha, tobacco is already getting in my brain thanks to that direct link to that immense porous lung membrane that if flattened, they say, would cover an large dining table. The neo-cortex of the brain is another one of those things that if it was stretched from its convoluted state would represent the area of a large handkerchief. Nicotine is pinging right now, boosting serotonin production in several synapses, making me excitable and certainly more talkative. Caffeine helping on with shaking the large handkerchief until of it fires on all cylinders. Pretty soon, blawgers and friends, we will have a synthesis, connections will occur and a concept will emerge, a morsel for us to savor all day.
....
I don’t know about you but I’m waiting for it. Like waiting for Godot. It doesn’t seem to be happening....! All the cigarette did was to make me want to smoke another one. All the coffee does is make me want to cook up another cup. Shucks. Remember two weeks ago I said I had quit smoking for five days then? It was true. Fell off the bandwagon on the sixth day. My brother-in-law that I am going to visit today in California was on a similar plan with a progressive decrease. I was competing with him using the ‘cold turkey’ approach. OK, I dont want to lose face so I am quitting RIGHT NOW so that when the family car reaches Carlsbad CA at around 11AM, I can safely tell him that I quit smoking.
...
Done. I just quit. I feel wonderful. All that oxygen is already seeping through the tablecloth of my lungs, rushing through the carotids to the handkerchief of my brain. I feel terribly smart and ‘promising’. Trouble is I have been ‘promising’ since my youth and have not delivered much. And still no delivery of anything substantial on the horizon, in spite of the ‘clean living’ I have subjected myself for the last five minutes. Nothing connects. It’s 4AM and the dogs are still sleeping around Nikki. Conditions are perfect for discovery, yet I discover nothing, zilch, nada, just wasting your precious time.
...
Let’s face it, I am not a Montesquieu nor even a
Georges Carlin.
I just don’t cut the mustard as a morning philosopher. And my own mortality makes it that fairly soon I will fizzle out into the dark soup, leaving no traces of my passage on earth. What a depressing thought.
But I did play the accordion at a wedding last week. And they are making a leather bound photo album. That document could last 100 years and end up on PBS's 'Antique Road Show'. Possibly someone would then identify me and say: there's my great great great grand uncle Jacques.
Unlikely. So let’s have another cigarette
