my mind. my thinking is,
most people say we say it all the time
I think, my mind's my own. I think for myself.
I'm telling you, there's bad elves in there somewhere.
some real bad boogers.
if your mind is yours
why does it always obsess
about the one fly in the ointment
the one gaffe at the party
or at every birthday, say
for decades
remind you of that time
two people
gave you the exact same thing.
is the mind a friend? really?
why does it bring up in vast array
at odd moments: every single
horrible thing that ever happened to you.
would a friend do that?
does it ever bring up at odd moments
the vast array of good things that happened?
the compliments?
it throws those in a dungeon
surrounded by crocodiles.
good luck getting in there.
to get it to remind you of the good stuff on its own
without conscious effort on your part is well nigh
impossible.
somebody's got to say it out loud with a lot of
pauses between the words so that it sinks in finally
cause the mind just doesn't want you to know this.
your mind is NOT yours. it's occupied by foreign forces
marshalling, to the default always set
like some nightmare librarian,historian,contrarian
data clerk all the records on:
things you wish you'd never said;
the grade school days the
whole class laughed their heads off at you.
everytime you spilled something on your tie, your dress
or prounounced something the wrong way
in broad daylight.
all the people that ever looked at you weird,
the cast of thousands. and it's always,
going forward, scribbling it all down faster and
faster like a haywire steongrapher, court reporter.
did you get that? screams one bad elf to the other
but not so you can hear. Here's a new Fear, they chortle.
why doesn't the mind ever spontaneously
bring up things: like dark cherry ice cream, rainbows,
extra puddings in your lunchbox.
WHAT'S WRONG WITH IT???????????????????????
mary angela douglas 21 november 2015
P.S. Hey, now I know who's making all the typos. It's the steongrapher. (stenographer).
most people say we say it all the time
I think, my mind's my own. I think for myself.
I'm telling you, there's bad elves in there somewhere.
some real bad boogers.
if your mind is yours
why does it always obsess
about the one fly in the ointment
the one gaffe at the party
or at every birthday, say
for decades
remind you of that time
two people
gave you the exact same thing.
is the mind a friend? really?
why does it bring up in vast array
at odd moments: every single
horrible thing that ever happened to you.
would a friend do that?
does it ever bring up at odd moments
the vast array of good things that happened?
the compliments?
it throws those in a dungeon
surrounded by crocodiles.
good luck getting in there.
to get it to remind you of the good stuff on its own
without conscious effort on your part is well nigh
impossible.
somebody's got to say it out loud with a lot of
pauses between the words so that it sinks in finally
cause the mind just doesn't want you to know this.
your mind is NOT yours. it's occupied by foreign forces
marshalling, to the default always set
like some nightmare librarian,historian,contrarian
data clerk all the records on:
things you wish you'd never said;
the grade school days the
whole class laughed their heads off at you.
everytime you spilled something on your tie, your dress
or prounounced something the wrong way
in broad daylight.
all the people that ever looked at you weird,
the cast of thousands. and it's always,
going forward, scribbling it all down faster and
faster like a haywire steongrapher, court reporter.
did you get that? screams one bad elf to the other
but not so you can hear. Here's a new Fear, they chortle.
why doesn't the mind ever spontaneously
bring up things: like dark cherry ice cream, rainbows,
extra puddings in your lunchbox.
WHAT'S WRONG WITH IT???????????????????????
mary angela douglas 21 november 2015
P.S. Hey, now I know who's making all the typos. It's the steongrapher. (stenographer).
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