was there ever an actual physical thing called a thinking cap?
let's pretend for a minute that you've got capillaries strung out behind you running to all the places you've been, sometimes like transcontinental pipelines and other times webs of sewing thread that are nearly invisible by proximity of color and angles of light. and let's disregard what time of the morning it is. this is unimportant. so these capillaries you've got growing out of your skin, they sort of poke through like, and you pull them along as you walk forward in one to four dimensions as your mood dictates. they are capable of stretching.
these capillaries, see, they pump you across time and space and fill the places you've been with your shadow and your smell and other things you may or may not remember leaving behind. your memory of course is irrelevant. that's why these capillaries grow in the first place, actually. they're like footprints, but footprints you could put your face through, one of those pneumatic tubes that send messages in little cannisters from one place to another and then back again.
all these places you've been then are your lungs. you're still breathing, even if most of the time you don't realize it. your lungs know enough to keep pumping your blood into little spaces to grab molecules of oxygen for the rest of you. again, your memory is irrelevant.
since we're pretending though, let's say that you followed a few of these capillaries around without tangling yourself too badly. or maybe you just hopped in your own bloodstream for a little while and examined some of the things that have been flowing around, to when, and from where. you might find some people you know at the other end writing notes on little slips of paper and dropping them in the flow, or maybe using your vessels like a well and bathing in you. you might find your capillaries growing into little flowers in the woods somewhere, trees in isolated places, or dandelions in the yard of the people who lived next door when you were five. some of your capillaries then, are things that you have planted, and others have grown into you.
soon enough, you'd realize that your capillaries have multiplied into places and times you haven't even been yet. or ever. still, they're part of you. they're sending you out across the universe, tying you down, pulling you up, wrapping you around. it's what they do.
this is maybe a little bit what it's like to be drunk on the universe. not barf drunk particularly, just sort of tipsy and with your point of view shifting out of first person every once in a while. the room isn't spinning, but probably it doesn't seem to be particularly built with right angles in mind either.
while we're using our imaginations, i'll pose a question. who made solipsism such a dirty word? the snarky answer to that question, of course, is "i did." and we'll all have a good laugh when you say it. go ahead. say it. there, that's better right? but i think that a more appropriate sentence might be "we did." both collectively and individually.
and maybe pondering unusual metaphors for chaos theory and the oneness of the universe on the internet at nearly five in the morning is sort of a waste of time, and maybe i should be sleeping instead of getting paint all over my keyboard, but i've been drinking coffee and dancing while i paint ridiculous things, and i feel the need to sucker you into my current good mood and feelings of self-sufficiency. i feel the need to flex my super-duper-interdimensional telepathy muscle. bang-zoom i'm writing this here and now and you're reading it somewhere else and somewhen else. sophomoric stoner talk maybe, but still amusing. to me anyway.
bang-zoom. i like that phrase. let's all be superheroes tomorrow ok?