[Mind] Hovering...
I'm at this moment hovering between sloth and ennui.
For the former, my body is in an exacting demand for a rest, namely
a sheer squander of time of some kind.
For the latter, my mind is, if not has been, fleeing from
the clutches of books, literally devils incarnate at times.
Though my feeling can go no farther than a metaphorical sense,
I do know well enough about the pain of being stuck in a limbo.
There is neither a Lethe nearby, nor an Arcadia around.
I know, yet fail to fully understand, what is kept in store for me.
Epistemology can never be easily conflated with ontology
(Lacan's fault, or his theoretical fallacy, is to be avoided).
I believe something, only to know a few.
Guesswork, rendered tastier if spiced with apprehension,
is the only abode to which I can retreat.
I expect no light of epiphany to shed, let alone Pope's
"eternal sunshine" on my spotted mind.
--
Anything worth doing is worth doing well.
--
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