A million thoughts running

through my head at once.

But which one is it I commit to paper? Ink to parchment. Or rather, font to digital memory. 

It's all about choices. 

What, when, how you speak. 

Like Lucky's unstoppable stream of consciousness in Beckett's Waiting for Godot, the insufferable multitude of 'think' ensuing from him lays bare the human predicament. 

Beckett's tragicomic absurdist play was my lit text in JC. The fullness of its meaning didn't fall on me then. 

We're indeed waiting for Godot, or God, but meanwhile the spaces are filled with the monotony of thoughts translated into insomany words. 

I think postmodernism is just a generation trying to cope with technological advancement, heightened education and literacy, 'freedom' of thought, and other ideological freedoms. Since there are too many freedoms to choose from, pluralism is the keyword of the day. 

Keyword being highly associated with the newly-founded verb of 'googling'. No longer just a noun. 'Let's google the meaning of the word "metanarrative".'

But no, 'little narratives' (Lyotard) are the soup of the day, so let's tell your/his/her/my story, our way.

And definitely, if you hold on to any monolithic, absolute truth(s), you're in hot soup if you're in postmodern company.

See, one thought leads to another, and another to another's other. 

Just please, let there be an absolute something or Someone, or somebody else could get hurt ingesting too much or too little Prozac. 

What maketh man is his very, very fine mind; yet it is also his undoing.

That's the way the cookie crumbles.