Mind the Mess

My thoughts

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Washing machine mimicry with the bubbles foaming at the breaking point, rabid and chaotic.

Dryer set to high to try and burn out the build-up of lint and lingering *white noise*

I am no more in control of my thoughts than I am my heart or lungs, my brain another wayward organ in a symphony comprised of narcissists determined to be the baseline; or the melody ~ I don't really know music but its a good metaphor.

Heartbeat drumming to fears like they are the metronome to keep pace with, a feast and famine of futility I cannot escape.

Lungs billowing, always greedy for more than my mouth can intake, my nose too is insufficient. The wind section of the orchestra is always lacking, wounded and winded and winding mournful tunes of desperate heaving and gasping.

Air and blood,

Water and whisky.

My circulatory system is in systematic synchronicity with the rest of me like the conductors wand has sprouted branches and we have all begun a cacophony devoid of choreography,

Just desperate to survive.

My mind is a minefield, but not all explosive set to detonate are destructive,

But some are.

Either way I am heedless in my sprint, full tilt, full speed, arms pumping for added vigor.

Zig-zag avoidance of bullets increasing the statistical likelihood of setting off every pressure-plated promise for purposeless pondering and philosophical meandering toward existentialism.

How did I go from whitegoods, to music, to war?

The clash of linens and instruments and instances of conflict all align.

~Unpredictability~

Throw a bag of beans down a flight of stairs and try to predict where each will land, that will have the same efficiency as trying to predict the pattern of my thoughts.

Just thinking about thoughts is messy—

Imagine if I were able to type each thought as it sprouted, grew and split away, building its own universe to exist within for the split-second before it burns out and is replaced by another, traceless once lost, infinite in its potential.

I have thought as much before, and will say as much now:

The mind is a boundless place, more unfathomable than the unfathomable. It is a contradiction and an affirmation.

"I think therefore I am." A pretty idea.

"I think and so It is" Feels more real to me.

For the limit of my thoughts ARE my thoughts.

If only I could make sense of them...