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It's a peculiar thing the way a mind works, be it a sane one or one infirm. A puzzle of enormous depth. But the day may come when the neuroscientists of this world say they have unraveled it all.
I have an 8 cylinder mind, which is running on ten cylinders at the moment. As I lay resting last night, trying to bring sleep to weary portals, the 9th cylinder missed and then exploded, conjuring up poor Mister Toad of Toad Hall, deranged, delusional, eyes wide and bleary, deliriously obsessing over securing just one more MOTORCAR.
Where in the world I thought did that come from? (I've given up trying to be grammatical). Then I saw barely lit against the shadows of the night the name Wind in the Willows, with Rat, Mole, and the whole gang of weasels occupying Toad Hall. Who was it who had come to save the day for poor Mr. Toad? Who? Who? I simply could not fire the neurons for the missing hero. BLAST. Where were the neurons, the missing 10th cylinder, when I needed them, or it, the most!
Wikipedia to the rescue. When flesh and blood fails, who you gonna call? Ghostbusters. And there it was, right there in the plot description, synopsis, summary, whatever: Badger to the rescue, secret tunnel and all.
Finally I could sleep again, restfully, peacefully. And think about tomorrow's chores tomorrow. What was hiding there, I could only half sense, as I began drifting once again across the surface of the quiet peaceful river just out my back door, something, something about leaves to rake, under my oak and willow trees?
***
- Dedicated to my family, while I lay here, not raking leaves, but drawing pictures in the sand
- And to a friend living in Toad Hall South
Credit:
- Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows, 1908
I have an 8 cylinder mind, which is running on ten cylinders at the moment. As I lay resting last night, trying to bring sleep to weary portals, the 9th cylinder missed and then exploded, conjuring up poor Mister Toad of Toad Hall, deranged, delusional, eyes wide and bleary, deliriously obsessing over securing just one more MOTORCAR.
Where in the world I thought did that come from? (I've given up trying to be grammatical). Then I saw barely lit against the shadows of the night the name Wind in the Willows, with Rat, Mole, and the whole gang of weasels occupying Toad Hall. Who was it who had come to save the day for poor Mr. Toad? Who? Who? I simply could not fire the neurons for the missing hero. BLAST. Where were the neurons, the missing 10th cylinder, when I needed them, or it, the most!
Wikipedia to the rescue. When flesh and blood fails, who you gonna call? Ghostbusters. And there it was, right there in the plot description, synopsis, summary, whatever: Badger to the rescue, secret tunnel and all.
Finally I could sleep again, restfully, peacefully. And think about tomorrow's chores tomorrow. What was hiding there, I could only half sense, as I began drifting once again across the surface of the quiet peaceful river just out my back door, something, something about leaves to rake, under my oak and willow trees?
***
- Dedicated to my family, while I lay here, not raking leaves, but drawing pictures in the sand
- And to a friend living in Toad Hall South
Credit:
- Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows, 1908
I once knew a guy who lived in a Ford Edsel
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