June 22, 2017
I’ve been toying with this idea, as I do with many ideas, of writing an inner monologue.Of the random pieces of sentences I keep inside, or the missing adjectives I leave hanging unsaid. You see, there’s been a shift, and I cannot yet decide if its for the better or not. A slice, or piece has been moved inside my mind, just out of consciousness; something is different, but what?
Who knows what the title could be. I hate coming up with titles. Maybe just numbers, or dates; I should stop making titles for my poems and just use numbers. When the mood strikes, I can mix them out of order for fun. I like Medium better than Wordpress, just straight and to the point, I don’t have to fuck around with Widgets and other silly gidgets….that’s a fun word, gidget. Don’t you think?
My poetry has changed, become something it’s never been before, and I am not yet ready to share all of it. There is also ideas, outlines for a couple novels I have begun writing, erasing, scribbling on sticky notes. I have this steno pad, its pages torn and crumpled from lying in my car. Apparently the heat of Ohio’s summer make the ink smears dry in an artful arc down one side. Who knew Ohio could get so warm?
There is nothing profound in my head, nothing for anyone to stop and say, “Oh my, that is wonderful.” with a surprised tone. It’s just an idea, flitting in and out of my mind much like the clouds on a windy day flit across the sun. I just want one patch of sun, to bask in, to forget my physical shape and melt. Melt like ice, or ice cream, the strawberry kind with chunks. They melt on your tongue as you lazily drag the cone across your mouth. What is your favorite flavor? Me? Yourself? Or maybe, its a flavor not made up yet?
I’m pretty sure such a thing exists, flavors not thought up yet. Much like colors. There have to be shades and hues we haven’t discovered. Ones that capture the exact sentiment of an artist, or writer. Like rage or pity. What would those colors be? Shades of black and white cannot express enough guilt or sadness; moodiness cannot just be shades of blue, maybe some new hue?
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