little voices in my head squeak to grab attention from the noises in my earphone chewing noises anklet sounds wind whisking by birds chattering on a balmy noon.
idle dreams fly by my head in circles and triangles and vaguely sometimes in squares too mocking at the meaning i try to draw from those shapes telling me they are after all just dreams
i swat them hard with the micronet of thought swok swok swok they die their dreamy death into oblivion their firefly existence drowned by the power torch of my willpower.
haywire the thought-web spins from potatoes to placebos jangris to gazebos armchairs to Computers for Dummies.
confusing belittling the strength of my selfhood
buzzing sounds of high voltage ideas striking with intensity a singed smell accompanying the birth of thought.
swimming colours floating figures nursery rhymes lyrics of forgotten songs embers of dead fires cyclonic storm raging within
trippy, the world i make for myself a lego block world with doctor sets and barbie dolls G.I.Joes and mosquito net houses fake mousch-es and wigs from thread sock dresses and paper boats imaginary friends and real enemies office-office and fake responsibilities card games and bus ticket currencies.
i move the coins my will and wish my fingers point inwards at myself when castles break clothes rip paper boats get soggy in the water tub stream.
i still have my rose tinted glasses cracking from the sides as time beats it down with its hammer
someday this glass shall be made into powder and i know i'll store them in a photo roll can and wait for my miracle maker to come up with a formula to resurrect my cool rose shades to wear them once again.
Too much philosophy is happening in the quiet of the head. As earphones plug me off from the out-worldly sounds, as moving images of two of my ad films digress me from the movements around, introspection has set in.
How quiet my life seems, and yet so cluttered with the voices in my head. I wonder why I have so many questions. And I wonder if anyone can even be addressed those questions to.
Twenty three years and yet I feel life has just gone a full circle. No wisdom, no sense. Impulsiveness and trust still belittling all the knowledge I amass.
Work anchors me. Thoughts of home and family set in a calm. Friends- here, there, everywhere inspire a smile.
But what is all this about? This struggle, this defeat, those minor random wins, that heart-wrenching pain that plagues me in spasms of suddenness, that hysterical laughter that drowns every goddamn existing thingsoundsmell in a whisker.
I am not depressed in the least. I am just too pensive, and introspective. Attempting patterns of sense, figuring the bigger jigsaw puzzle that includes my own little set of puzzle blocks as a minor set.
I am snipping away... not just the reel images that I once conceived in a particular fashion in a certain style flowing to a perfect rhythm brewed.
I am snipping away... also the fingernails that grew over that hurt me when I clean my face that scratch me in my sleep the nails I let grow hoping to see prettier fingers.
Snipping is all I do in life The baggage I carry of thoughts and emotions fashioned from mud, artistically by eager hands; those very hands gripped each other in fear when it saw the world had trampled it over in naughty enthusiasm.
Snipping snipping snipping cloth, film, hair, nails, thoughts, feelings cutting to fit some hand in glove some feet in sock some spirit into life some happiness into days
snip those sad dreams that wilted snip away those idle thoughts that wasted snip away everything, just everything.