Maybe I'm more of a philosopher than I realize. I was just reading "This Book Does Not Exist", a book on paradoxes, and I noticed parallels to my thoughts on cello and bow experimentation. It describes philosophies which question reality - like whether 2 seemingly contrary things can exist simultaneously, and likewise whether 2 identical things can coexist - just the sorts of problems I grapple with when I am comparing or trying bows. How can I feel so differently from one minute to the next when the equipment remains the same? Perhaps I should be questioning reality itself. I tend to anyway, but this book makes me feel that I am not crazy in doing so.

The conundrum seems to be that at one moment I feel so sure about how a bow or cello is responding, then in the next I have an utterly alternate sensation. How do you reconcile them? Which one has more validity? Has something changed which I cannot perceive? Or, as I am now thinking, is my actual definition of reality askew? Maybe that gets into religious considerations as well. Sometimes it seems to me that religions are in the business of stretching the limits of what one considers reality. This can be frustrating and lightening at the same time. There seems to be a fine line between philosophy and religion. Maybe one is the practical application of the other. Of course some religions are more practically oriented than others.

Floor one, floor 2, floor 3, floor four. Up and up and up arose the paper plate. There was little left to do so down it came, as if no one knew.

On the foggy whereabouts we came upon her, less bedraggled than infirmed. She made umpteen claims about how gooily she had prepared it. All of us could tell that simply to know her was as gooey as we wanted to get.

Why he preferred it incessantly action-packed was a question frequently posed in the dead of night, but only blue moon-edly during other times. Some deemed him gravitationally challenged, thus lacking in scientific truth. He could trollop, trend-set, traditionalize, and triangulate, but rarely did he successfully mow the lawn. "It wasn't my initial choice," he was heard to say, "but neither were leaving my initials on Joey's hubcaps." For the most part everybody accepted this as as idiotic an explanation as could be hoped for.

As you begin the uncomfortable journey, there will be a ticklish feeling like feathers brushing against your body. Once a few twists and turns have transpired you will be utterly in the dark. Progress will be slow as your surroundings gradually become more and more mucky, until it is finally time to take the pill that changes you into a liquid. Then you blend easily into the surrounding matter, swimming through the wonderful mazes and folds which seem almost endless and are surely inescapable. An electrical feeling envelops you and carries your fluid self to an apparent respite from this roller coaster. It is then when you remember to recite the incantation which returns you to a semi-solid form, and you easily float out the other side to what lays ahead.

So the protagonist travels up and down the levels of its home at the whim of the residents. There is food to be had on both floors as long as his straw is also transported, otherwise it's not 'til who-knows-when when the juice of life will be granted. It speaks hundreds of languages but has only needed two thus far, and boy are they different. Different alphabet, different grammar, even different scent - the swirly language always smells wonderful, floral. The protagonist understands that there is tremendous difficulty if it were ever to travel rapidly in the sky, with x-rays and jerkiness and sometimes excavation of his innards. It realizes that a journey like that would have to be discussed by those differently-fragranced roommates that massage it every day.

Unlike another computer who shall remain nameless, the protagonist was thin and light, with a slight issue of imbalance keeping it from superstardom. It is quiet and silky. It's a quick learner, learning new tricks in record time. It has a reasonably nice voice as long as it's not asked to sing too robustly.

It fantasizes about traveling, not surprisingly since it was designed for such things. It has seen the inside of a Bob Evans restaurant and some hotel rooms. But it has never been to the Far East or the Rockies. It would adore surveying the view from the top of Mt. Washington.

There are times it wishes it didn't get so hot, or at least that it might learn how to sweat. It has a built-in fan which provides a nice breeze during those balmy days on the couch.