sometimes i wonder where these thoughts are born....
my consciousness glares over them like a torch on wet cave
walls and many times my mind will interrupt itself, as if i had
already been thinking on these thoughts and somehow happened
upon them through circumstance or event. my consciousness
stumbles in to a bustling coffeehouse of thoughts and i become
enlightened to their existence as they become aware of mine. a
calm hush surfaces and the once-teeming thoughts scurry from
the light.
my mind, an enormous multi-legged creature, walks like a crab
against the back wall and picking up a struggling thought with my
giant pincers i bring it closer to the forefront of my thinking. the
thought tumbles against my hooked claws as i effortlessly twist
and turn it, examining the very makeup of its being. pressed up
against my face i can follow it's seams as they dart in and out of
the densely corrogated fabric.
between the stoney texture of my grossly exaggerated appendage,
the thought breathes rapidly... and a deep, cool sensation steals
over me to which i gasp and shudder as if i had discovered something
macabre and strange. the very essence of thought penetrates my
hand and creeps up into my blood and i become overwhelmed and
frightened at this occurance. the thought permeates my being and i
become one with it, i see from it's eyes and feel from it's touch.
i see a bulbous pink cloud trapped in a room with no windows... and
from the middle of the cloud, a blond winged man sits. another
voiceless figure flys around him, almost bouncing off the swollen pink
fluff of cloud....
the wriggling thought slips through my clumsy grasp and the images
of cloud and man disappear almost immediately. i lurk again from the
wall of the coffeehouse and feast my eyes on many glittering prospects.
but before i can snatch one, i begin to feel a pressure on my hardened
arched back and i realize that a thought has alighted upon me and once
again i am transformed into its being.
i am seated before a large lighted panel decorated by many alphabetical
characters forming words both foreign and familiar. the panel stretches
from floor to ceiling and the characters move and change color, mingling
amongst each other. i sense i am viewing a large city from far above and
the arial perspective grants me not only the priviledge of viewing a vast
network of ants bustling here and there, but also the abominable curse of
a windy solitude.
the characters rearrange and i become aghast at the sight of a familiar word.
it lingers on the panel.... looming.... as if my estrangement hinged on that
single word alone. regaining my placement in this scheme of events, i reach
out to touch the word, somehow believing that upon my touch, all answers will
immediately rush into my brain and i will have become acquainted with that
which is pure knowledge.
upon receiving my touch, the panel does nothing. the word remains. i hold
my pressed finger against the word still with much anticipation... yet nothing
happens. dispirited, my hand returns to my side and i stand there, straight-faced
and bewildered, at the characters on the wall as they scurry to create a new
formation. the room goes black and all that is left is me and the wall.
the imagery and sensations of this thought linger and fade as the body of
the thought gently yet quickly slips from my back. i have already experienced
enough for today and i slowly claw my way around the wall of the coffeehouse.
finding a desolate crack in the wall i retreat slowly, forcing my enormous
shelled body to become wedged safely within the confines of the wall. there
i sit to digest and contemplate the bounty of today's ideograms without
further interruptions from the buzzing thoughts surrounding.
