There is a river running through the maze of my mind.
There are mannequins in perpetual motion; stringed puppets and marionettes whose shadows run faster than their bodies.
They are closely followed by the internal sounds protruding from the pores of my mind. Noises and vibrations and echoes of disenchanted screams and lost delusions and vivid hallucinations.
There are droplets of liquid falling from the ceiling of my mind. There are frozen stalactites hanging above the frantic scene.
There is life somewhere in a corner of my mind.
Life, what has it turned us into? Did it turn us into poets? Or did it turn us into grieving souls yearning to be heard?
There’s recklessness in my mind. Somewhere a growing roar makes the little yawning faces tremble in fear.
There’s a line of garbage in my mind. A sidewalk filled with blue and white trash bags stacked on top of one another forming a great wall of filth.
There is filth in my mind. Human filth and contempt and disdain. There is emotional filth in my mind. Fear of abandon and an elusive search for confidence and pride.
There is a tsss in my mind. The same sound you hear when you’re opening a can of soda.
There are no colors in my mind. I look through the door left ajar like looking through a thick mist of fog and smoke.
There is uniformity in my mind. A uniformity of degeneration and psychedelic music and untamed rhythm.
And what about the people? Who inhabits my mind? Who seeks shelter in that desolate place? Who goes there? Who returns from it?
None. There is no soul – living or dead – walking through its walls or trying to find its way out of it.
There’s a carcass in my mind. A rotting skeleton of a feline or a house pet. It looks like it’s been run over by someone and was left on the cold hard floor.
Why do we channel these things? Why do we allow ourselves to breathe in the air of negativity and turn our thoughts into solitary confinement when there are claims that the world is an optimistic and fantastic place?
What about all there is to see and hear and feel and experience? Where are those things, those hidden geysers spouting from the pyres of the earth?
Maybe it’s a mechanism. Maybe it’s a strategy of self-defense. Maybe it’s a preparation for the colder days; the hail and the sheer cold of the storm and the uncontrollable winds.
And maybe it’s just a stream. Maybe it’s a channel of thoughts started by something, just passing by and continuing along its path.
Where it’s heading I don’t know. But I can feel it circulating in my mind, lapping around it a few times, filling it like an empty vessel and overflowing everywhere. There are headaches cringing against my skull and banging against my forehead. There are restless spirits that are yet to be calmed or reach a state of Zen.
There are names flying around like paper airplanes and sticking into the ground. There are lost symphonies of ancient music I can no longer recognize.
There is a fanfare, there is a celebration, there is mourning, there is a morgue passing to the sounds of a pipe organ. There are people trying to get in through the cracks to watch it all.
Two of them are trying to hold hands while a third is waiting behind to break them up and steal one of them for himself.
There is destruction. There is rebirth. There are elements like water and fire and earth and air. There are flying chimeras above.
They are all there. All and more. Waving and weaving and sowing to the unanimous sound of the falling droplets, eclipsed by the mind which closes over them like a dome.
A dome that fades and reanimates itself. A breakable shield that tears down and rebuilds itself. A conflicted place that has taken many a hit and survived multiple conflagrations, but might not hold on forever.