What are you thinking of right now?

Or, a sketch of a proof of the infinity of thought

No worries of rain. Only an idea, a notion, or even less, a word. The beginnings of a word. Something that is not yet, yet is, is a thing, but not a thing that is. This sort of thing. The sort of this that does not have a word, no name, there are words around it, but none of those words are its name. And without a name, we do not yet know its character, and a name will change its character. If we name it, we destroy it. We fill the space between the words, and that space is its body.

No worries of rain. No images of oceans or what is within oceans. Nothing that is liquid or solid or gas or plasma is what I am thinking of right now. Neither animal, vegetable, nor mineral. No real pattern. What I am thinking of is at an angle to all these things and to every item in every lexicon. Orthogonal, or — better — diagonal.

And if you should think of some new thing that is none of the things of which I am not thinking, I can tell you already, I am not thinking of that either, it is equally oblique to and untouched by that.

That’s what I’m thinking of right now. 

I trust that makes things clear.

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