I got a link today from @DavidBTwit about Martin Strel, this guy who swam down the Amazon river, all the way.  Made me ponder courage and how much he has compared to me. Imagine hopping back into a river after your boys just had to pull you out because pirhanas were chewing on your legs. My toes would be curled up inside my feet. Not that I would ever get back in or anything.

My hope is that there are different kinds of courage, and maybe I’m not a total ween. I have the non-physical kind, I guess, the kind that you just think about. There’s not a thought in the world that I won’t think if I have to. Got some bad thoughts you need thunk? Send ‘em along, I’ll think ‘em for ya. Heck, I’ve even been insane: spent a week in a State mental instution, if that counts. No biggie. Insanity is just real fast sanity. Suicide is like mother’s milk to me.

Perhaps the long strange trip that was my youth prepared me for weird thoughts. We sure habitated our brains in some strange, strange places, our thoughts cracked into halloowing monstrosities by a variety of superb illegal substances. I’m thinking drugs were more benign on the body back in those days, before they started making your teeth fall out and your face look like an oozing cratered moon. Sure took the mind along to some alien vistoes, though – cartoon-land for sure.

I’m not afraid to think any thought in the world. Does that make me brave? Maybe kinda. Not as brave as Martin Strel, though.

Thought pirates attack!

Arrrgh matey,

LWIII