Idling

There’s wondering, idle thoughts, thinking over what was last said, some poetry in my head like traffic outside the window. In my forgetful marrow, I consider often lying words, like everything and all. Nothing is another matter. Nothing comes of everything and all. Something comes of nothing. I know the word no means no, yes, yes, except when they mean each other. There’s water, which means water, dishwater, that may mean worthless. It’s often better to say worthless when you mean it. I’ve come to meaning, that can mean reason for or reason to live, words I might say outright without first saying meaning. Then there is a mean man. How did mean come to have two meanings? Take a dictionary of homonyms and tell me how words got to sound alike with different meanings and spellings, a Sea of  Words which is a Chinese dictionary. Language has its ways, its altitude and latitude ... Stanley, baby, quit jerking on and off. I’m simply talking to myself. I am more familiar with the dark night and bright day of the body than the dark night of the soul. Light has an exaggerated reputation. Goethe’s last words were, “Mehr Licht!” Faust was dragged off to hell when he was content. Goethe preferred discontent, which needed light. The seed is contained discontent.