It's a beautiful confusion From one simple conclusion I made up on the spot My life has changed equivocally And here I find myself ... :\ a little Lost.
•It's a beautiful confusion•
It's a mess up in this noodle bowl Of wet spaghetti, out here trying To just Figure it out dude, Jesus Christ! Just stabin' with a fork for thoughts, Trying to get em to wind But they just keep slipping off And falling back in line
-But also-
Like Spaghetti Junction at I-20 and 35 (that might be just me Who calls it that, but it fits the mind That locked it in. A six year old old boy, visiting his dad in Dallas for the first time)
A mass of twisting tangled lanes merging in chaotic looping interchanges, where ideas collide and collude and rearrange like ******-off commuters late for their day Through exits and on-ramps, flowing freely at times, and then stopping dead still for an hour or two every day, twice a day ... and when it rains
... Or when it's too full of vehicles to fit in the lanes; 'cuz you can only fit so much in a physical space. And a brain is thing That really needs a case.
It's bounded and confined by the number of lines it can build in any direction, so it gets backed up from too much thought traffic trying to merge too fast, causing collisions and slow-downs, and hitting brakes, and and the slow-down echos back through the increasing stack of moving parts in red-light cascades and honking squealing aggression Like compression waves.