i think about the good things, and the bad things. sometimes i think about oblivion. sometimes i think about love. sometimes i think about mirrors. sometimes i think about god. i lay in bed and think about life, and living. i'll think about society, things i could change, and ways i could change it. But then the inner cynic speaks up and says 'that's impossible; look at yourself.' And i look at myself and i realize that the inner cynic can be right sometimes. i don't have to do it now, says me. i can do it in a few years, when i can be all loud and influential. then i can do it, says me. but the inner cynic, he just laughs. and things flash on the little projection screen in my head. and i realize that sometimes the boundaries between cynicisim and realisim are blurred.
sometimes i think about petty things, like what i'll do the next day or when i'm going to do the laundry or if i'll actually try to get out of bed before noon or in bed before 5 a.m. Real survivalist stuff. but one can't ponder the mysteries of the universe every night, or you'll start to be able to pinpoint the exact minute those first rays of sunlight shine through your curtains. and thinking can get you into trouble, too. just ask anyone who has done it before. and sometimes i just let my mind go numb, nothing in there but little snatches of song blowing back and forth. and then i sleep.

sometimes i feel.

sitting up in the late hours, some little thing i read or see on tv will strike a certain key, causing me to go for my trenchcoat and open the door and wander through the nightmorning mist. and i talk to the stars, i share secrets with the moon. i'll suck the dew from leaves of grass and just be for a while. no worries, just feeling all the wonders of life and the human experience, feeling and breathing in little snatchets of life. and i'll go, and observe, picking up the faintest hints of the palette of emotion emanating from the people around me, looking to eyes and to hands and uncovering and watching the things that those thinking want to hide. i'll breahte in emotions from the base of my neck and let them warm me, like clothes fresh from the dryer or a cup of cocoa on a bitter winter day. or i'll listen to music and let myself be swayed by it; the music is the ocean and i am a seashell, going where ever the sea decides to take me. and i see my heart in my hands, and i feel human for a while. taking in all that i am given, and using all that i can. milking it for all it's worth. and i breathe, and i see, and i am alive.

sometimes i dream.

sometimes i dream about all the things i want to do, or almost need to do. and i dream about not being trapped by a bpdy that no one will take seriously, and i just have to break it in like a new pair of jeans before it'll be comfortable. i dream of going away, of getting in a car and just driving, seeing other places and doing other things. getting out of the dungeon. living without chains. i dream of finding a place to be accepted for who i am, and not ever having to be anyone else. i want to go, and sort of find new experiences for a while. and i dream of someday being able to finally do, not just trying to what seems like the best of my ability to do something...adequate. i dream of being my own person, and living my own life, instead of being such a captive. and i dream of making my own life, of accomplishment.

sometimes i hide.

i hide behind masks of all different shapes and colors, masks with clown faces, and masks of mirrors. i play a never-ending game of hide-and-go-seek with myself, one where i hide in the different corners of my mind while i go searching for myself. sometimes i turn into a jigsaw puzzle, and scatter myself across infinity, where i have to go and find the pieces and put them together again, like humpty dumpty falling off the wall. only i don't get the help of the king's horses or the king's men. it's a solitary job, one that it seems i must do by myself. even though the map of the shadows of my mind is not complete, i have a bigger piece than most. too bad that's a necessity. and i never really know if i have the whole thing put together. just when i think it's done and i don't have to worry anymore, i spot the lumpy edge in the dark and i have to go off searching again.

sometimes i am.