Everything on Earth is subjected to gravity and bad Juju is no exception. It is at ground level where bad Juju puts holes in your socks, it is where knees get skinned and hips break.
Bad Juju has been
known to lay across a path in the forest just to trip hikers, and during the
night dig potholes in the road. (I’ve
seen it happen)
It is only with the
proper footwear that you should step into the inner workings of a pocket watch. Some edges can be very sharp, and a few
surfaces tend to be slippery. Hearing
protection is always a good idea, and no loose clothing, neck ties or dangling
ID badges.
Balboa Park, in San
Diego is so much more than an escape from the city and the freeway traffic. It goes much deeper than the flowerbeds and
far beyond the surrounding sculped architecture. It contains a built-in feeling that suggests
a life other worldly. Its beauty has the
texture of classical music that stays with you long after your time there has
ended. It permeates your memories, like
a blend of fine seasonings, adding a wonderful flavor to your time spent that
even sunset can’t erase.
I’d like to build a large room, one window and a door. Inside this room I would scatter all sorts of geometric shapes, of all different sizes. There would be cones and cubes, pyramids and triangles, cylinders and hemispheres. In through the window I would pour sunlight. Of course it wouldn’t come in alone, shadows always tag along.
The light would strike the cube, making one side bright. And the moment light hit the sphere, it would roll across the top, running a shadow up the wall. Now, not only do we have shapes and contrast, but we also have movement. The shadows, of course, add an element of danger, so now this room also contains tension. It seems to be filling up quickly.
I never mentioned if
any of the shapes had color, but if they did, we’d have to include tone and
reflection. So far, this entire room has
been constructed of pure thought. I have
built it on your mental real estate. I
know you can see it, the shapes and shadows, the textures and the
geometry. It’s all there. And if I were to pipe in some music, I’m
guessing it would be Pink Floyd. The
Dark side of the Moon. Not my first
choice, but it seems to go with the furniture.
Even if I had the ability to compartmentalize the cognitive aspect of my brain, and shrink it down, I doubt I could comprehend quantum particles. My years of exposure to basic logic, as seen on TV, prevents any comprehension of anything being in two places at the same time. Exception to the rule: Hayley Mills.
Therefore, I believe it
is safe to assume that each brain has been programmed to operate only within
the confines of its original program.
Any deviation must be with the express written consent of the baseball commissioner.
Impossible to measure
the length of a thought for just as you hook the end of the tape measure on the
first word of the thought, you discover you’re still thinking. Before you know it, your tape measure has run
out but your thoughts have not.
I don’t miss the crumpling. There was a time when I would sit down here to write and there wasn’t a computer in front of me but a typewriter. Every bad idea, false start or misspelled word would cause me to yank the page from the machine and crumple it. The waste basket next to my chair would soon overflow with an impressive pile of crumples.
Every time I see a small clearing in the woods, I feel a little guilty. Those poor trees died because of my lack of talent. It wouldn’t be so bad if a crumple could be planted in the ground and a new tree would sprout up.
But would they grow
with words already on them? I can
imagine lengthy sentences running up and down along the bark. Poorly thought-out ideas, out on a limb. Leaves dotted with punctuation, like little bug bites. The Crumple Forest would surely be a sight.
Lumberjacks would not be injured by chainsaws but receive only paper cuts. Hiking trails would grow pre-marked. Grade school kids on field trips could learn not to run on sentences.
ZC
