This morning I awoke wanting to write again while the house is still sleeping. I awoke wanting to do a whole lot; thirsty for knowledge, hungry for activity.

Crazy connect-the-dots inside my brain today. Synapses zapping metaphors around these deep fissures.

My thoughts, zooming around like a fleet of small birds, blackspotting the sky. Droplets of memories and bits of information clinging to a hundred tangled mindwebs, occasionally coalescing, slipping down my spinal cord like a long icicle. Shiver.

Can you know me? Look into my eyes. Can you see the gold flecks shyly floating in there? Can you see the iris of rust acquiescing to the sea on an overcast day? Can you look through my pupils and tell that I'm not from here? Not from anywhere?

Wading up to my knees in a flooded street. Transparent windstorm. Starry glazed streetlights in the reflection of a storefront, dusty raisin sky like a smoothly rounded rootbeer waterglass.

Waking up in the middle of the night with heavy choking fear like swallowed cotton and humidity in a small dark corner of a bedroom. Fear of what? Today, tomorrow? Nothing. So I slumber into the bathroom and look at myself into the silver mirror. I look surprised.

Ok, maybe that's out of my system now. I don't know, it all definitely helps.



"I had that dream again
I'm exploring my (own) home: I happen across a door: that leads me to a room I've never seen."

- Photo by Brandon Boyd
From White Fluffy Clouds