Nuthin’ to Say. It’s Friday.

I don’t have anything particular to write about today.

I just feel like writing.
Sometimes we don’t need a reason to do something.

Like going for a walk in the woods.
Yeah, we can say that we need the exercise.

That some fresh air will do us some good.
But, it’s just the time we take to walk that’s important.
Or, maybe it’s just a matter of killing some time.

Lord knows that I’ve shot my share of seconds and minutes over seven decades of walking on the surface of the Big, Blue Ball.

Those times when ya just sit on your butt in front of the LED screen. (What used to be the “tube”).
Or, maybe wander aimlessly through a good book.

Soaking up the life of imaginary characters in an imaginary world.

I don’t know about y’all, but my bookshelves are chock full of hours of my time.
But, really, what better way to waste time?

Ok, playing guitar is up there as well.

The countless scales and chops that have exercised my fingers and my mind.

Where have all of those notes gone?

Vapor. Smoke. Gone.

Or, are they?

Perhaps their resonance is still being felt and heard by some flock of Puffins somewhere.
Maybe the waves of sound have bounced and ricocheted through the clouds and found their way into the oceans where they confuse the dolphins and whales.

Can you imagine the solo from Kid Charlemagne guiding a pod of orcas

It would be fun to see them dancing among the waves!
Right now I’m wasting my time at this keyboard.

The one safe place that my own thoughts can dance like those orcas.

I have nothing to say of any import.

I just like the sound of the keys clicking under the weight of my fingers; under the weight of my mind.

Isn’t it amazing how our species has reduced communication to such media?

From the chicken scratches of cuneiform to the simple 24 characters that we English speakers use to form the mist of ideas into the clay of language.

Look at us grow!
Is it growth?

Has the reduction of our thoughts and stories to characters arranged in a certain order truly been the cultural boon that so many post-moderns think it is?

I think of the oral traditions that once carried our culture and our lives from one generation to the next.

I try to imagine the relationships that were once held sacred as a storyteller told of the ancestors’ wisdom.

How the people looked into the eyes and the hearts of each other. Is our way truly so advanced? I don’t know.

The connections that language create between people seem to have been sloughed off as some archaic relic that we no longer need.
I don’t know.

I’m just rambling here because I can.

Right now I’d rather waste my time typing away than watching Andrew Zimmern prattle on about some “Delicious Destination.”

Soon I have to get ready to go to work

A different kind of wasting time.

A waste, nonetheless.
Someone’s gotta slice the bread and pack the cookies so that privileged white people can have their goodies.
Fun. Well, not really.
It is what it is. And, the clock hands keep spinning, spinning, spinning.