The Truth Of Baking Soda

Start the day with absolute truth. If you can’t find truth, try baking soda. Baking soda has an ontological foundation that makes it perfect for substitution, gentle exfoliation, and alleviating heartburn. When a proposition is true, it is identical to fact. What is a fact? A fact is grounded in further facts, which makes them abundant and public, like baking soda.

Is there a universe in which this makes sense? Yes. The universe of baking soda. In the universe of baking soda all one needs is a little conviction, a little butter, and enough energy to power a small frog.

There is no such thing as the absolute truth. Observation is a slippery animal. Perception is inherently amphibious, as it ambiguous, and awkward. Observation may be unpacked in reflection, say in a hotel room, after going through your suitcase for some items pertaining to daily hygiene, such as toothpaste and mouthwash, or at least a credible action figure, Arnold Schwarzenegger as The Terminator, a cyborg assassin with a peculiar sense of humor.

Errors of judgment are inevitable in an art form that relies on putting words together. As soon as words are put together, they assume a life of their own. The next thing you know Arnold Schwarzenegger is breaking down your door and a magic black swan is carrying you away to Mars.

Why Mars? There are no vacancies on Venus, and Titan won’t accept pets.

Balancing probabilities revives the milk from its effacement in coins. Start with this attitude in mind and you will end your day with singing. The song is up to you. But allow me to recommend Miserere mei, Deus, by Gregorio Allegri.

And for the sake of what it brings, this milk of humility is a precious gift. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought you summon up a lake and begin floating in it, the wrangling and unseemly disputes in your head will not help the serenity of the surface. Row quietly. Bring a book.

Today, for example, I poured some salt and baking soda into the drain of the bathtub and washed it down with a cup of vinegar and watched as it frothed and bubbled up out of the drain. I do this not only to clear the drain and quicken the flow of water into the drain and so on down the drain, but to amuse myself with philosophy, and the general flow of life, which leads to the cosmos, and diffusion among the stars.

And there is truth in this.

There will sometimes coexist a morbid sensitivity to fog. This may be performed by engines pumping steam into the air, or a chorus of female singers, sopranos with a flair for medicine as well as entomology.

In a majority of cases, forgiveness for one’s failings may stray into stucco and become a blossom of rattling sportscasts. We must be ready, without fear or favor, to call into question our own experience, and let it slip into breakfast like an eyeball, and stare back at us, bubbling with amazement.