the return of the hair-apparent.

My emphatic response is – NO!! Well not quite as emphatic. And neither quite as upper-case-y nor as exclamation-mark-y.

I was reading my own postings in this long-left-for-The-Grateful-Dead thing and was compelled to think up responses for some of the things I falsely said. It’s one of the failings of reading the things I normally read cos I’m forever compelled to reply to THOSE, and then sometimes, when there’re real people around to hear those replies, they’re treated to schizophrenic responses to said replies delivered with fervent gusto as though the “I” that I was 2 minutes ago was some raving lunatic with no semblance of human understanding and logic whatsoever, and had done a disgustingly gross misreading of the whatever-fuck-it-was (it don’t matter no more cos that’s besides the point – the point here… I’ll tell later. If I remember within the space of this post to interject between my wrestling with my own self). And so this verbal ping-pong (or just plain tennis if you swing that way. “That way” being whichever way Maria Sharapova’s legs are showing up on the screen) will endure, until finally I can’t, not out-reason, but out-shout; myself anymore, and I slide into a physically quietist position, all sides of me within still clamouring for their pieces to be heard but with the engine promising to deliver them having blown a carburetor (to stretch that metaphor for all its worth).

Anyway I was saying I was false. Well not really so much of the time, but just that I did leave it in the plural form to deny myself the benefit of the doubt (the “me” now, and “now” as in during and before the posting of this, you see). But that’s still besides the point. The point is the post in which I said the goon watching the traffic in the different direction from the direction of traffic was wrong. It just dawned upon me, some hours ago, that he could’ve been trying to look out for incoming cars from the reflection off the rears of the cars passing his line of sight. You see, I figured if you can see a vehicle behind passing vehicles this way, chances are you’ll get proper-fucked if you attempted to follow the chicken there and then, cos the vehicles’ll be close enough. Though it probably isn’t the most intuitive method of death-by-reductio-ad-roadkill prevention, it is a rather brilliant way out, huh, if I may de-socket myself by patting my (the “my” now, who just thought of this) –self on the back. And I think I’m so brilliant the world’s plotting to de-seat me as the Thinker of Marvelous Ideas, starting from my hairdressers who’re plotting to surreptitiously crown me with what was previously voted the World’s Worst Haircut. They think they’re so clever and they think I don’t know. Hah! So there!

The point was my incessant need to argue with anybody and everybody, first and foremost with myself; all the fucking time. Ok perhaps not ALL the time, cos I did get out of the conundrum to remember this. And then some, cos this constitutes another instance of my not being free from said conundrum. Erm cos I’m arguing with myself again, for those who didn’t catch that. I think I’m becoming more disjointed and incomprehensible. Perhaps this return’s for the worse. Hah. But, like a professor’ll say – nyah nyah nyah. There’s the academic life for you, I guess.

p/s: On a totally unrelated note: when you couple the exciting Fringe with the exciting Tail, you don’t get the EXCITING conjunction ending in a stylistic coup the follicle ticklers will swoon over; you get the fucking mullet.