“This mug just causes me to ask so many questions” but then, of course, everything does. It's nothing special about the feeble attempt at humor written on the mug itself, it's about your own constant, incessant questioning of...everything... that almost drives you crazy. Whenever it looks like it's dead and done, you just can't leave it alone, you have to prod it with a stick to see what's up with that particular possum. It's about your parallel disgust with those who smugly pull answers wrapped up in neat little packages from various pockets when challenged to think. That's one reason you buck the plug-in-play dogma of Christian lemmings. No thinking required there, all answers supplied. Stupid answers admittedly but more comfortable for most than dealing with the kind of open questions that ambush you and violate your peace on a perfectly nice day as you sit on the deck trying to relax for a fucking minute or two. It would be so easy to fill your pockets with your own little packages: “There, I'm done with that one, I never have to think about it again. What else you got?” but you can't do that can you? You have to stir the pot because you just can't accept those easy answers that are so blatantly transparent. So what's the bottom line? Where can we say that we know anything? Sadly, we can't. Quote all the great thinkers of human history. They, like the rest of us...don't...know...shit. So we self medicate with drugs, alcohol, food, sex... a million different diversions, anything to provide a brief respite from knowing that we know nothing at all. Find peace with that and maybe you can finally relax and enjoy that cup of coffee and the scent of the trees on that sweet deck of yours.
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