Thoughts or something similar

If I were a writer, oh what would I write?  I suspect it would be epic when it formed in my soul, truncated considerably as it resolved to words, and utterly pedestrian when it made it to the screen.  But let’s see if I could give it a try.

I start with a cow.  A purple cow, not unlike that old song, save that this cow has both eyes, both horns, and does not fly.  Does it eat people?  Not so far.  Can’t promise that won’t happen.  If it happens to you, then you will die with the satisfying knowledge that you are the first known human consumed by a cow.  A purple one.  Purple, like the robes of a Disney movie monarch.  This cow is no king, however.  She hasn’t the requisite body extensions to fall into that sex classification, though she could certainly be “genderfied” in any direction her patrons/matrons choose to direct her.

Does she have free will?  Is a cow intellectual enough to care?  And who first presumed that intellectualism was somehow a prerequisite for free will?  Plenty of the intellectually challenged have free will, they just don’t know how to utilize it.  Or if they do, they don’t know when to do so.

The animals of the world, minus us humans, don’t intellectualize death.  They aren’t sitting on the plains or the meadows or up in the trees feeling sorry for themselves because they’re aging.  A zebra with hindquarters half-ripped from hip bone still feeds with the others of the herd.  It doesn’t require ten years of therapy to understand why the lion attempted to eat it, or to come to terms with the fact that its mother didn’t explicitly explain that this could happen, or prozac to deal with the reality that its leg will never look/work the same.  The zebra doesn’t reach middle age and suddenly realize it had an awful cubhood. 

We, the intellectuals, are the ones that do that.  And usually not in the interest of getting better – but simply to have someone to blame for the fact we just don’t take the reins of our own lives.  So why am I contemplating the purple cow?  Because I’m attempting to untangle the neurons in this soupy gray mass that operates my fingers, beats my heart, forms specious arguments that come back to haunt me when I’m feeling smug.  I use the cow to grab at all the threads, pull them to center, introduce them to one another, then cold-cock the sonofabitch that let them get so messy to begin with.  The cow is an anomaly, and therefore so off-putting that I stand back and let it go crazy, feng shuing my cobwebs, replacing the insufferably loud voice of late that tells me I am going ever so mad.  But hey, at least I recognize a purple cow is not at all a normal cow.

And now it’s tap-dancing in my mind.  Tap dancing purple cow, which may or may not eat a human in the future (and lucky you if it picks your tender flesh – you’ll be in the news!) and swings on my gray matter neurons like a trapeze artist in a vintage photograph.  Now the cow has a handlebar mustache, which should certainly surprise the next bull that sees her from the front.

Is this how it looks when the mind untangles?  Somebody take a selfie in front of me.