where do the nice thoughts go when i can't think them anymore?

i had a really good one the other night, we were having a very uni-ish bullshit discussion about the order of the universe. i think i started on some equivalence of human influence with the potential to kinetic energy transfer thing and then it veered into visions, hallucinations and tiny tiny pellets of speed ricocheting through her brains and it all got a bit lost.

i think it might have been about perception through more than three dimensions and how the human brain rationalises it. but i really can't remember.

and i wanted to hold on to it, just to write it down and ponder some more.

but it left me. fucker. (teehee, do you think pirates say 'fuckarrrrrr'?).

but perhaps there's something grotesque about the idea of fixing thoughts to paper, much as one might pin butterflies to cardboard. (actually, would it be more or less grotesque to pin butterflies to other butterflies? i don't really want to know, but i think it says a lot about cultural conditioning)

thoughts written or spoken are never the same as thought in my head. this is not so much a good or a bad thing, but an illusion i should try to remember more often. perhaps they're happier floating in the ether or stolen by aliens/government agencies.

i like to think there's recycling/reincarnation for thoughts. those discarded or lost get sent back to the source, and rejumbled to be sent out afresh. or maybe it just did its job of giving me something to think about while at the bus stop and has gone for a well deserved holiday in the Mediterranean.