Don't Have To Make Sense

It doesn't matter if I don't make sense. I don't have to make sense. What is sense anyway? These statements and question are sensical, so maybe it does matter.

I like to think of every statement from every angle, which makes for some nasty debates. When I had a to-do with a doctor, I was thinking my statements seemed a bit absolute, and were we to get into an extended argument, I might come out on the bad side, because absolute things allow for too many exceptions.

As to not making sense, though, in my own reveries, I don't need to make sense. There's no writing down of it anyway, in any complete way, so it's just as much an expression of consciousness to be absurd as it is to be reasonable.

I've been writing a thing where there's some nonsense involved, but it's expressed as a very reasonable step-by-step descriptive thing. At times I'd like to dip in and out of insanity just to get a feel for it, in order to do this work of absurdity. Because as absurd as I've been there's still the appearance that it's written from the point of view of normal sanity. How much more interesting everything might be!

But how do you dip in and out of insanity? I haven't done it exactly. But just sitting here now, I can think of theories how it might be done. One that pops into my mind is to look at shapes. Triangles, squares, circles, blotches. Maybe blotches would be good, since we all know they use them in psychiatric exams. Trace the edges of a good blotch in your mind. Then just as you're tracing it, veer off a hard right or hard left, or, better yet, right toward you. Here comes a veered off blotch, leaving the page, headed right at your forehead. See, you take the sharp edges of an imagined blotch, put it right between your eyes, and what might you see?

Another thought for dipping into insanity is to be entirely unreasonable and irrational as to your body makeup. We've seen the medical commercials, like for Vesicare, where everything is pipes. Go even more radical on your bodily makeup, to the point of being constructed of pipecleaners and less fuzzy wires. It's not too hard to think of the inside of your head as a structure of pipecleaners and ligaments, mucous and things stapled in place. That mucous thought is something you see on TV ads, where the mucous is having a talk show inside your throat. They've infested you ... go with that.

My own childhood was marked by several images like this, including the little germs on your teeth with pickaxes. Then there was the cartoon that had fleas in the forest of your dog's fur, also doing some mining, with picks and axes. It's one thing to envision that. It's another thing to go beyond that, quietly reasoning with entirely unreasonable imagery.

I think I've come to the end of this reverie.