I don’t know what to think.
I don’t know how to think.
I don’t know how to feel.
Life just seems jumbled-up, shaken around in its puzzle-box, disconnected, senseless and out-of-place.
Very little in that life feels known, dependable, familiar, friendly, solid, in-focus, or colorful.
Blogs are supposed to be the place where you tell everyone what you think, even if you haven’t had a thought worth sharing with your own dog for years.
And I can’t. I feel a need to write. There’s an urgency behind it. There’s a frustration with the way the world is. There’s a sense that I used to have an idea what it was all about, but I’ve either forgotten or never really knew.
Or that I was just plain wrong.
Right now, life is a Piet Mondrian painting rendered by Rene Magritte, an Apple device designed by Salvador Dali, an Alberto Giacometti sculpture done by Fernando Botero, a play by Samuel Beckett enacted by Jonathan Winters, a “Matrix” movie directed by Terry Gilliam.
I can’t even begin to describe what it feels like, and the temptation to just not feel at all. Wall it off. Shut it down. Go Vulcan.
It does not compute.
So I don’t know what to think.
And I don’t know what to feel.
There it is, folks: your messed-up friend Keith, in a nutshell, trying not to become a nut.
What do you do with that?
If you’re me, you write.
Sometimes it helps.