Things are getting interesting around here. The sky is turning dark, and a low rumble of thunder has crossed the ground. Bright strokes of lightning cut like knives. Colors around here can get so intense, even the greys. But the green never ceases to amaze me, being an asphalt-eating Southern California boy at heart.
I woke up thinking about the word confusion. It’s one of those words that doesn’t seem to have anything in common with its roots. “Con” implies that it’s together, combining or coexisting with something else. “Fusion” implies the same sort of combining idea. But it’s really neither, now isn’t it? Confusion means that you can’t get it together, you can’t fit the pieces together, you’re dif-fused. It just doesn’t make sense.
Working on the Blake paper, I’m less confused than before, but things still aren’t fitting together right. I’m diffused.