A Sense of the Non-Sensical

I have a problem. I always trouble myself trying to think of a thing to write. Maybe a hat but then what about a hat. Maybe a short story but then I would have to write characters points and plot sequences when all I really wanted was a quick story. Even then I could go into the world of a large story, writing each chapter over time but that takes far too long for me to enjoy myself and I’ll putter out quickly. 

“Well.” 

You might say.

“Really River this is just you being lazy. Maybe instead of whining you should get your tush off the seat and think up something of use instead of puttering around doing nothing like an absolute nimrod you stupid, stupid boy.”

And to that I would say,

“Ow. That hurts, ease off pal but you’re right. I am lazy and a nimrod but not so in this case. See if I think up item then I will choose the item I want to do most or the item I know most about. It’s not random anymore and anything fun is random.” 

See, I need inspiration. Some sort of fair way to write on something random without me having to take the trouble of thinking it up thus making it a non-random thing. 

As it would be, inspiration is the crux of imagination. Nature might inspire someone to create a series on the complicated life of a naked mole rat in his search for clothes. Humanity inspires so one creates a 30 part series on it’s history. So much inspiration lies all around us, how does one choose? How do I choose? In a world of seemingly infinite possibilities to write on, how will I, a mere man, find my theme?

This is the problem.

The solution, as I would find it, lies beyond my wee little mind, I myself cannot choose in this vast universe of choices so I must therein rely on the good old fashioned Lady Luck herself.

But what if Lady Luck has decided she wants a jaded answer. She doesn’t like me or the way I do my hair. She would rather me talk about puppies and four leaf clovers than anything random in this life so she too is out of the answer. And my hair is just fine. 

Then I would only have to conclude that a circle– the roundest and thus fairest of any shape is my only choice. However, a problem lies shallow on the surface of the circle and that is a circle doesn’t have the foggiest sense of anything to do with anything. It is like the wheel of a chariot that does not know where it goes only that it is going there.

But of course. 

A wheel. 

Not one of the wheels on a chariot no, not one of those old things. A wheel far cooler and more hip. One of the wheels in a circus or a candy shops that spins and whatever slice of the wheel you land on is your prize. What if there was a wheel that had every single possible random item ever thought up in the history of randomness and every time I could not make sense of what to write; I would spin such a wheel and have it land on one nonsensical slice which in turn would have a balloon or a bit of broccoli or the inevitable doom of us all pasted on its triangular shape. Then, to either my dismay or immense gratitude I would then have a completely random thing to write on. Now that’s an idea. That might just work. It might not be the most sensible thing to do, spinning for nonsense, but in a sense, I enjoy it. It’s a sense of the nonsensical.