   |
| Pohectic Licence Where do they come from these thoughts which come cascading forth like so much coal dust out of a scuttle. Only to burst into a brief existence of animation in a shower of sparks which illuminates the page yet defies explanation. Cast down the pen only to take it up again, as a new thought comes in from a different quarter - or is it the same? One thing is certain and that is nothing is certain and only we are to blame. Why did I write that? Am I just a puppet of some external or internal unidentified force, with no more job to do than try to put some order into the thought provoking words and phrases which tumble in torrents when least expected. Is it indeed mine to even question why? I believe that any who hope to sort out and find any hidden meanings, must first seek to grasp the unidentified questions. Then; if having achieved that much, they will find the answer is something which cannot even be formulated. I can't even say why I believe that to be so. One day others with a far higher intelligence and station in life may argue and ponder the depths of my scribings. I'm sure that they will know more; but they will understand less; and this coming from the author, who understands nothing. |
|
|
|
 |