I don't remember who has said it,maybe Einstien, or if I made it up on my own, but it struck me again today that "One is limited only by his/her Imagination!".
I am a rambling hippie. My mind is fickle, capricious, ever meandering unstructured mash-machine. It's amoebic nature takes a shape and form it desires and moves in all directions it can. It often reaches dead-ends, turns back and charts a new course. It doesn't always grope a subject to tortuous depths like an octopus on a hunt: wriggling it's tentacles to trap it's prey in the meanest and most inaccessible crevices at the bottom of the sea floor. My mind is rather like a butterfly sipping on the nectar from one flower and moving to the next attractive bud even before the sweet taste of the first has melted into it's consciousness.
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