Strange Rash

Seven Times Nine

"He knew his fate no more than an tealeaf knows the history of the East Indian Company."

Douglas Adams

I have an itch but I told myself not to scratch. I've been having a few thoughts lately, which is funny considering all this time I have been spending not thinking. Here I don't really think as much as things occur to me and as a result I really have no idea what is going on beyond a feeling I occasionally have. But if you are still reading this you probably want to know what thoughts I have had. There is no point though, I don't like points, they are too sharp.

As you sit there, most likely half lying on a desk in class on Friday morning wishing you were elsewhere, perhaps in bed sleeping, you just might wonder "Why am I here?" "Why am I paying thousands of dollars to be here?" "What is the meaning of life?" "What is this strange rash on my genitals?" People seem to think about this question a whole lot, which is strange because I thought dictionaries would be a pretty authoritative source on the topic; life, not your genitals. Still people wonder, ponder, smoke weed late one Tuesday night, and come up with some answer that seems to make sense to them. If everyone is unlucky this person will go ahead and try to convince other people that he is right, meanwhile getting others high and trying to get laid and ending up with a strange rash on their genitals. Problem is, it seems this person cannot really prove his idea correct, but the way he sees it, no one can prove him wrong. I think the whole idea of one thinking that they have an answer is a bit misguided, but that is what I get from having a bowl last Tuesday. It would be like if a computer tried to figure out the meaning of computing. Try that one on your dual Athlon. It would spin its circuits and crunch away, maybe figuring that the meaning of computing lies in the humans that gave it the instructions to do so. Somehow I doubt the computer would be satisfied there and would go on to wonder why it was created in the first place. Much to its disappointment, it would discover that it was just built by humans. Then this next question would become, "Why did these humans build me?" which leads logically to "What is the meaning of life?" and we have discovered that we have gone nowhere. I find my displacement is often zero, as I end up back in bed at the end of the day, unless I have been somewhat lucky that day. Still we are too close to life to look at it clearly. It is like the Earth, on its surface it looks flat, only by combining observations can clues to the apparent roundness of the Earth be determined. I think the quote by Douglas Adams gives an excellent example of the scope issues that arrive when a life form tries to figure out life. Just keep having sex, that is what Darwin says.

But that is not my point, as I don't have one. Just some thoughts sourced from a lack of thinking and how could you ever trust that? You know you're right, you don't trust me to not think for you.

Indeterminate