This makes a whole lot of sense, you just THINK it doesn't. First, a tone poem:
yikka-yikka ssnnaaaaaaaaaark! snaaaaaaaaaarrrrk! wiki wiki iki iki fow, fow, woohaw, woohaw!
Got on the water today, out on the bay. Finally; first time in a long time. I woke up and node-tended for a while, cleaning up some of the sawdust and ashes from last night's urgent noding. Elsewhere, otherwho has said: If I Could Remember What I Realise When I'm Drunk I Would Be Very Wise By Now, and I gotta agree. In vino, veritas. I do think that the nodenapse is a shadow of an Everything noding session! I just haven't expressed it so that it resonates with sobriety as well as it resonates with Glorious Excess.

I also think that Carl Jung is the originator of SYTML; now how to make that grokkable?

In this sober moment of sober sobriety, I think that my rockband (as in "X would be an excellent name for a rock band") should be called F.O.G. for "Fear Of Genius".

The joy of knots. A trucker's hitch is truly the most useful knot you can learn; with that and a half hitch, there's nothing you can't do.

That woman: Aggressively cute. It was like her beauty was yelling its head off while she stood there. I wonder whose sister she is? I wonder what her handwriting is like?
Thinking about getting over it, how you have to ~, etcetera. About smarts, and who's got 'em, and who doesn't use them. About the return to music after all these years of NPR. About the need to be a good typist, how it would smooth the thoughtflow and the nodeflow to be able to type square brackets at will, so that I could link without it seeming so goddamned ARTIFICIAL. Grrr. Thinking about how being mad is like being in love. Consuming. Convincing. Fills your sensorium. Gives you a reason to go forward.
Thinking about how disapponted (disapponted: thrown off a bridge?) er, disappointing it is that Jesus (or the messiah) has not shown up after all this time, after all the earnest prayers of some very nice people. Could it all be based on a misapprehension? Sure seemed real to me all those times I listened to Jesus Christ Superstar.

Went to the bottle shop to get a bottle of...Kahlua? Khalua? Kaluah? make a White Russian with. In honor of The Dude, and the terrific acting in the movie The Big Lebowski. I ended up asking one patron of the shop where he was from: his accent sounded...NZish? Not New Zealand, he said. There was an awkward pause, where he should have volunteered his country's name. His pal said, "Only five possibilities", which puzzled me. Pal explained, "Only five places that speak English with an accent like that."
My next guess was right: South Africa. It wasn't a guess. I knew. Something in his awkwardness. An Australian would have guffawed and offered a disparaging remark about New Zealand. And there was something about his reticence that reminded me of other South African friends.

Lyrical exhaustion. What. What's the story with that kind of song? Thinking of the Bruce Cockburn album "Humans", and the song about being on a train in Japan: "...while across the strait a volcano flew a white smoke flag of surrender." The perfect thing to say at that point in the song, so perfect that it... um, I don't know. Every time I hear it I want to close my eyes and disappear. That moment and the pictures from the Hubble Space Telescope are bits of unfailing proof that human beings are cool, and should stick around for another few thousand years to see how things turn out.

So, more thinking about beauty. At the party I was talking to this woman and arguing what feels right: that it's possible to be in love for a moment at a time. That I've never slept with someone that I didn't, in some moments while we were entangled, feel love for. And that yes, that's real love. And that I have a policy of standing by the embarassing things I say when drunk: I didn't say it because I was drunk, I said it because I was momentarily brave. In wine, there is truth, even if you are too chickenshit to swear by it when you're sober again.
So it's all about how you let those aberrant moments affect you. The good moments, if you feel bad. The drunk moments, if you're usually sober. The awake moments, if you're usually asleep. The big moments, if you're usually petty. The agile moments, if you are normally stiff and in pain.

Rereading bits of Walden. The introduction, just now, to check up on a cool gem, a nut in the brownie, that I remembered: "The head, I find, is primarily an organ for digging". So apt! I have no idea of how I could like a book any more than I like Walden. I had the quotation a little wrong; see writeup.