Snippitts of Illusions

I like to have conversations with myself. Usually when I'm trying to wrap my head around something: a philosophical or theological dilema, or an idea that I'm trying to grasp, or just something I'm working on a project of some sort. I don't normally do this outloud, because I'd look crazy and I don't want that. Chances are, however, if I look distant and out of touch with what's going on around me, then there is a conversation going on in my head. Sometimes I'm doing it between someone I know and myself. Other times I distance myself from it by making it two fictional characters. Most of these conversations nothing profound occurs. IN fact I can only think of a couple where something remotely profound occured: One was a spiritual revelation that I won't go into. The other one that I will mention became the play Chilli. The conversation much like the play was about a woman discovering her husband had just turned someone into lunch. Unlike the play the initial conversation in my head was incredibly dark, and not at all humorous. Now is this the sort of shit I usually think about. God no. Not usually. Most of the nonsense going on up stairs is just nonsense. Unfortunatly, this sort of nonsense is going on all the time. I probably spend a good portion of my day, when not engaged in activities of an artistic nature (including film watching) or in conversation carrying on these conversations. Now my mind does wander, the coversations up there do tend to get slanted from the nature of the universe to the best cleaning solution to use on a tile floor in the blink of an eye. (Usually that's when that paricular conversation will end). When ever my mind does wander, I don't usually tend to try and steer it back. I let it go. It'll come back around. I'll get distracted and it will reset. This will help some of you understand the random shit that pops out of my mouth at times. It's because you can't see what's going on upstairs.

Some of you might think I'm crazy. Oh well.

posted by F.G. Shaw @ 2:06 AM