You're not mad, I'm not sane
Thinking is such a pain.
I'll yield and tell you if I must.
In nonsense we trust.
Also, this happens to be the 100th post on this cheap imitation of my pessimism, projected onto an optimistic plane of mind, by my alter ego. Drafted by the whirlwinds in my brain, my dialogue with myself and no one in particular, tends to range from poetic prose to prosaic poetry, encompasses the physical and questions the metaphysical, indulges few and bores many, enlightens no one but refracts me (reflection is pretty much impossible I've learned) plausibly well, if not accurately. I'd like to thank anyone who's been kind (and patient/crazy/patient(the other one)/mad/intellectually gifted/parenthetically tolerant/tangentially eccentric/admirably athletic/patient(see what i mean?)/critically critical/ killer rajan) enough to go through all or any of my musings. Here's hoping for a quick double century!
Hocus Pocus gilli gilli boom.
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