(I don’t know when this was written, but I can guesstimate it’s existence somewhere between ’95 and ’99 because of the print and paper stock. It was the old Brother word processor, which was owned, and used frequently, during those years. It’s not great, but the mind in charge must have been exposed to some decent wisdom at that time.
You aren’t the one and only.
The one. The only.
It just seems that way sometimes.
Heed this word of advice:
Longevity of success is dependent upon failure.
(Another short one from the ’97 vault. I was living in Lawrence at this time. Lots of fun. Lots of drunken writing also. This one is tolerable amidst piles of garbage I have sifted through tonight.)
Fear — so strange.
Society instills…
Society accepts…
Fear.
Which is worse: Death or Fear of Death?
You tell me.
I don’t know…
yet.
Fear — a song
ringing through the trees.
Fear — so wrong.
Repressing inhibitions.
Truth.
(Back to purging through old materials. It is painful to see how much some of my old stuff sucked, but this is quite a cathartic experience looking at pieces of whatever was going on in my head at that time. Regardless of the good and/or bad, its part of where I am at now. Plus…it helps lessen the load of the green accordion file from where it was extracted. Enjoy. or not.)
It isn’t easy…
having a mind.
So much time to think;
Too little to wait.
Too many worries;
Too many dreams;
Too many decisions;
Too many schemes.
It ain’t easy…
having a mind.
I would rather have the morning.
I’d rather have the night.
I’d rather have a running stream.
or maybe a garden
full of vegetables.
Just fit right in with the rest of them.
No mind to worry;
to grow;
to make up thoughts;
to remember —
all the shit that goes with living.
All the mistakes.
The words spoken.
The hearts broken.
All the shit that goes with living.
All the bottles smashed.
All the autos crashed.
All the lives I’ve trashed.
Although I may not recall
It all
seems just a blur.
A broken wing.
A tattered blanket
blowing on an empty clothesline.
A bar at the end of the night.
Sometimes it gets so lonely…
having a mind.
I cannot explain it.
I cannot refrain it.
Philosophies.
Dreams.
Pornography
seems
a joke to those who don’t use it.
The mind, that is.
I cannot escape
a zoning that creeps up behind me.
Whether in class
or at work,
I cannot escape it.
Groping me down.
Thinking ’bout the mantle,
or the core of earth.
How I wish I was one
in some garden.
Truth.
Mind Stroll 