[1] In the queue to the Big Splash Mountain, Paul, the Oxford philosopher talked to Henry, the quasi-Western dilettante, on how Wittgenstein arrived at the five or six assertions, which he initially believed solved all the tricky problems of Western philosophy, such as, for example, what is reality, and what is truth?

With the ride done, and his feet traipsing through pastel colored plasticy Fantasyland Henry wonders if truth can be discerned by consuming this large helping of mouse themed kitsch?

[2] His ass planted on a shitty yellow bedspread, with Bourbon Canal emblazoned across it, Henry, the Heathen, listens to an aria from J.S. Bach’s Cantata No. 4 “Christ lag in Todesbanden” (written for Easter) over and over.

Since there is a Gideons’ Bible within reach, and since he forgot to equip himself with reading material, Henry reads the Word that supposedly made him or someone like him, and the Word that can resurrect him if he only chooses to accept and believe, despite his disbelief, in its Truth.

[3] How to process the following piece Of information: Salome’s seven veils dropping in Strauss’s opera as she sing- dances her way across the stage
holding John the Baptist’s severed head on a tray, dripping blood,

Henry wonders, as he dyspeptically eyes humanly creatures walk around, clutching signs of their love for an adolescent mouse, who like him (assuming Mickey, like him, still exists) isn’t getting any (Minnie doesn’t do it).

There has been no time to stop and smell the roses most of these past days except for that small pause in the morning, after shower, a cup of coffee in hand, watching the sun rise over the waters of the bay. The rest of the time is spent drinking new information and ideas I would need to know from a firehose, so that when the day in done at 7.30 pm (an early day too given what the days will be in the future!), all I am really in the frame of mind for is to eat a quick bite (during which time food & over-feeding of the self is a side-effect that has to be battled assidiously), and go to bed.

The question then is how to still live an integrated life, with some silent time to read, write, think, feel, or even more simply breathe? But I have time just enough to pose the question but none to, at least now,to answer this question.

How to become a consultant? Learn how to do Excel. Get used to sleeping in strange beds, which process is akin to getting caught in an avalance of sheets and other fluff.