Sunday, August 28, 2011

Pitch Black Thoughts in Hurricane Rain

I used to revel in silence. Let my subconscious thoughts force my conscious ones to subside. Flesh out snapshot ideas and observe as they formed, and grew arms, heads, and tails—taking on a life of their own. It was a private form of entertainment exclusive to me, by me. I notice over time that as Life moves, and things within me die, it gets harder to find that place of wonder and trivial engagement. I admire the quirks. The inexplicables. The clever-but-not-reallys. The I don’t know and won’t pretend that I do to make you feel like someone is driving this thing.

I like to speak in metaphors that only I understand.

I enjoy things that are exclusive to my inarticulate understanding.

I’m okay with being impressed with the word you used that I don’t understand and not needing to look it up.

I don’t need to know how everything works.

Sometimes, I just want to go into my mind and engage the many geneses of future good ideas and regrets.
Arms, heads, tails, and all...

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