Archive
07/24/09 - (1)
The Very Idea of It
By Friday a.m., His brain had wound down. Instead of the usual eight to ten ideas Competing with each other, for supremacy, Not even a half of a half of one percent of one emerged,
And he found himself in the very compromised position Of having to sit, through breakfast, With silence written all over his dazed face, His vacant stare taken notice of by waitresses and patrons alike; He couldn't even decide on what to order for breakfast.
Things declined precipitously, from that point. First, he couldn't recall where he was. Next, his car had gone missing, from the parking lot. Then, he got lost, walking in traffic, Ended up at Chesed Shel Emeth Cemetery, instead of elsewhere.
Wherever "elsewhere" should have been, he couldn't remember, Since forgetting was everywhere, For reasons he couldn't even begin to think into existence, Given that ideas of any stripe were in short supply, Until, finally, one did materialize, upon which he acted, with alacrity.
In a flash of synaptic lightning igniting his dark mind, He was confronted with a most compelling "what if": What if this is it — out of business, permanent shutdown? He began digging under a shady oak tree. Never again would he be at a loss for things to think.
07/24/09 - (1)
|
|||
|
|||
