I don't really think.  I don't really do much at all.  Sometimes I move my muscles.  Sometimes I stretch my brain muscle.  Sometimes I fullfill my obligations.  But there isn't really much.

Did you ever ask that question?  The deep probing insightful one sitting at the tip of your tongue?  Did you ask that fundamental question that shakes the assumptions of all that has come before. 

I would have a story to tell you about the time the spit flew as the perfect question was asked of the perfect person resulting in the timeless answer to placate loud minds, but that hasn't happened.  My tongue knotted itself to my cheek, all I do now is moan. 

Garbage is beauty, ruthlessly reuse.

 

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