Old coot noodles’ thinking on things that there’s no answer too, nor an
Explanation for. Remembering things that are mostly true but may not be, or
Matter at all, and probably never have, or will. The struggle to make sense
Of anything is the beginning of endless description and uncountable
Enumeration, plus disorganized ranking of things; we learn and know.
And, kowtow too. (Some things are impossible to resist, we find at times).
Only to forget, and wonder, where that last thought got off to. Maybe it’s in the fridge.
Even if it’s not there, something else at least as interesting as the lost (last) thought
Will be. Maybe the makings of a good-snack-sandwich. Need some nutrition to
Fuel this habit of inquiry into the more banal aspects of existence and perhaps find
Joy in thinking perhaps this is all there is. And, that’s just fine. Plenty even.
The sun has set and tomorrow may appear, can’t be sure, but that’s OK. I assume.
This old coot may be grumpy and worried, but there’s love and a wish for the best.