The Sanctum

Welcome, traveller. This be the realm of Jay Niner, where everything be possible, and nothing ever happens. If, perchance, thou wisheth to tarry, then find thou a page from the Grimoire and read. For we are here in eternity, and we are in medias res.


Falling down and down and down.

The last time I fell from the sky, it wasn't much use. Let's face it: wind whipping past your face doesn't help your thinking much, you're much more concerned about the fact that you'll need to land and have some quality time to think.
When was the last time we thought?
 It's a good question. We'll think, of course, about the last time we thought, an' when we think about it, you'll find that thinking isn't much use. So all this time with so many thoughts whirling inside the brain, and then we think again, rethink, post-think, pre-think, think thoughts in duplicate, lose them in the perpetual swamp of the brain, re-rethink, pre-post-think, and finally wonder where thinking got us.
Thinkin' is a waste of time
You look like a silent mime
Keep thinking and you'll lose a dime
I'll throw at yer face some juice of lime.
Perk you up that certainly will.
Ye'll pick up yer inkpot an quill
Ye'll churn up somethin from that mill
And make mountains from a mole-hill.
O, I know ye will...
Better not leave it on the window-sill
Or the fallen angel will come down
An see if yer work is oven-baked brown.
Well, you heard the man. Signing out. And don't forget to think about what I said about not thinking.