“Birdle Burble I went out of mind and then came to my senses By meeting a magpie who mixed up his tenses, Who muddled distinctions of nouns and of verbs, And insisted that logic is bad for the birds. With a poo-wee cluck and a chit, chit-chit; The grammar and meaning don't matter a bit. The stars in their courses have no destination; The train of events will arrive at no station; The inmost and ultimate Self of us all Is dancing on nothing and having a ball. So with a chat for chit and with tat for tit, This will be that, and that will be It! (poem for James Broughton)” PoemPhilosopherNonsenseAlan WattsJames Broughton Author:Alan Watts