My Cuckoo’s Nest

It starts near the end of the test, when the receptors start to work normally (normally should be in inverted commas but that would be too cliché). It peaks the day after.

The illusions that flew by unbridled with context, now have a magical thread tying the bits and pieces into a beautiful package.

Today, I get the impression that many posts cover my embarrassment when I do not know something my avatar would know.

Bees are positively charged, pollen is negatively charged. The bee creates a magnetic attraction when it gets close to the pollen. After the encounter, the bee wipes herself off and makes the honey to drip over this metaphor. This is grossly simplified but should be more-or-less accurate.

Is writing this post question begging? Does my reasoning go in self-fulfilling circles? Regardless, I see it as a sign I can move on.

Not all cuckoos are brood parasites.

Brown-headed cowbirds are famous for their protection racket. They are never there when you need them.

I look around my brother’s living room. The never-ending joke sits on the table. I have read almost everything referenced in the forward. And its author is a big deal at Esquire.

I watched the Pynchon movie two and half times. I want to read the book of Doc.

I can remember the authors’ name readily enough. The homophonic titles confuse me.

I read myself looking for a conclusion. I see riddles that do not follow. And riddles that only I can understand.

I did it again.

“Writing a song about Lake Memphremagog
And tonight I don’t believe
There are words to spare and be a tip and a nod
Admitting it’s half the defeat

Tonight the non essential worker
Is hunting the problem bears
One sounds cornered
And one can go no further
And it all sounds like it’s happening upstairs

Do you hear that?
Like dry leaves a straggling
Or a guard dog’s claws on cement
Or an idea that’s getting more determined
To get where it’s getting

This might be harder than keeping it simple, yeah
This can be simpler than keeping it real
This might be harder than keeping it simple, yeah
This can be simpler than keeping it real

Shakespeare, you’re a drunken savage
Well, you’re a sober and green eyed Voltaire
It almost sounds funny
Like two tough talking goalies
Who are really going at it upstairs

This might be harder than keeping it simple, yeah
This can be simpler than keeping it real
This might be harder than keeping it simple, yeah
This can be simpler than keeping it real

Tonight the non essential worker
Takes on the green eyed Voltaire
Who won’t go further
Than sounding just like murder
When everything is quiet upstairs

Now do you hear that?
The song of Memphremagog
The shush, shush of his gentle lament
It’s maybe a song that can’t quite be determined
Till it gets where it’s getting” — The Tragically Hip, “Problem Bears,” In Violet Light (2002)

A Little Bit of Anything

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