Thinking

By Marcus Pan

Chain Border

You do not understand the meaning of confusion unless you have led my life...particularly the last week of it. I feel like a dyslexic in a library. Let me explain...

(Large personal portion removed.)

I feel like Sisyphus...I have to roll the rock up the mountain for an eternity. Then it rolls back down and I have to go back down and do it for another eternity. And I'm damned to do this forever. Well, this ain't Tarterus, damnit, and I can stop anytime I damn well want to. Just let the rock roll, say fuck it, sit down and light up a smoke and do my favorite thing in all of creation...think.

I think all the time now. I sit and think. In my cabin on Solitude Plains where nobody can knock on my door and no salesmen go to disturb me. I ponder. Yeah, that's what I do. I'm a ponderer. The statue "The Thinker" was made for me. Robert Fulghum says in his book, "It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It", "To ponder is to think at a deep level." And, my friends, you can't get any deeper than when you're sitting in a cabin, all by yourself, in a place called Solitude Plains and it's winter and nobody's around and all you have to do is sit there. You do a lot of thinking when you're alone. And never have I lost it...to anyone. Even when I am in a relationship I think. Noone thinks for me...it's what I do. I'm good at it. I may not think in a straight line (some say I think in such warped ways), but I think nonetheless. Besides, doesn't science say there really is no such thing as a perfectly straight line? Imperfections lie in everything. And some of them I can fix...but I have to think about them and find them. They say that "spotlighting absurdities in society is the first step to eliminating them." Well, I must have taken steps in eliminating so many goddamn things. Speaking of unstraight thinking, look at this entry. First I'm speaking of a girl, then a book, then lines. And I am succeeding, albeit in a very warped type of way, in tieing them all together. Well, hell, that's why I write a journal. Maybe someday someone will read this, and maybe someday someone won't. But the thing is, when I do my thinking I have to let it out somewhere. I like to keep track of what went through my mind, and someday it could fill volumes upon volumes. Second edition sets and the whole bit. But it's not like I can sit down and discuss this to many people, anyway. So I discuss it with myself...I ponder it. Hell, people think I'm crazy enough and this stuff will only get me institutionalized. Robert Fulghum also said, in another book called "All I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarden," that "You can't explain everything you do to everybody." I firmly believe in that. I just hope that if someone happens to get to read this they take that to heart. Because it's true and no matter how many times I am asked there isn't a way I can explain how I managed to link together all these different subjects and somehow, in a strange way, it makes some kind of sense. At least it does to me. At least right now. I might read this entry years later and not know what the hell I was thinking when I wrote it, but I am thinking and that's the point because I am a thinker. And I am also a writer so I therefore, understandably, write down what I think. That's part of my job.

I have the strangest feeling I am currently brain dead. This entry is beginning to remind me of conversations I had spent in the early wee hours of the morning; sometimes high, sometimes acidic, sometimes simply punch drunk; talking about some of the strangest stuff I could ever have come up with. And him to. I started this entry with the definite intent to speak of me and Kathy and Gina and all that happy horseshit. Well, here I am at 2:00 in the morning, only 4 hours of sleep in the past 33, drinking coffee, smoking and eating the large amount of Halloween candy left over from last night. Yeah, my vision is even blurred. I'm brain dead and punch drunk. And I should get some sleep before I continue to babble for the next 6 pages or so (that being a very small estimate). If Russ and I managed to write down half the things we talked about in detail, there would be the first edition of this journal in book form. What you are reading now would probably be the second or third, just to give you an idea of just how much we covered. You can do a lot of talking through the night drinking coffee and playing $1000 computer baseball games. And Russ is on my wavelength. I mean directly on it. Not just a cross of wires, here. A direct link. There are a few people who can connect to my wavelength, but I think Russ is the only one who is permanently stuck on it like I am. A busted radio that can only get one station...a station I think I'll call WPDM&R. "W" for wavelength, "PD" for punch drunk and "M&R" for Marc and Russ. "WPDM&R...Punch drunk radio!"

A few people come close. Some I know personally, others I don't. Robert Fulghum comes to mind. I just began reading his second book, "It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It", at Lou's early yesterday morning after work. Fulghum, now he touches on my wavelength. I definitely understand that man. The experiences he writes of, some of them at least, I can directly relate to. But, relate to them or not, I can fully understand the meaning behind each and every one. Another person who comes close to my wavelength and occasionally touches it is Gary Larson. He's the comic behind "The Far Side". Now, some of those comics I have seen or found examples of in real life. I can relate to them, too, and because "A picture is worth a thousand words", so they say, they are just as well written or, if you will, "well pictured" as Fulghum's anecdotes. These men are definitely "kindred spirits" as Lou calls them. Lou's another one. He touches on the WPDM&R wavelength quite often. He may not stay on it for long, and sometimes he does, but he's not quite permanently connected on it as Russ and I. But he's pretty damn close.

Well, I think, maybe, I will go get some sleep to recharge. I could use it. Besides, I won't be able to talk about the ladies without bringing in some weird, connecting piece of my warped mind to clog it up. I will say allot's happened that has left me like a "dyslexic in a library" as I stated before. Totally confused. But I won't say what. So stay in suspense. I need to rest.

The above was an excerpt from the Journal of Marcus Pan II. It was Entry #133 dated November 1, 1992 at 1:50AM.

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