He's a shifty little guy, that Mind of mine.

When you stop asking yourself, ‘what is normal, anyway?’, and you finally find some resolve in the fact that perhaps, you’re not so normal, and perhaps, you really are alone when you stay up until the early morning reading ‘Aristotle, The Metaphysics’, and writing about those loves you regret, but never really ‘get’.

Forgetting to indicate, I turned the corner; steady, but maybe a little fast, eager to bargain the gear into park. I rest,
the street light blurry at the top of the crescent. I think I need glasses.
I see my house. My house. Somehow, in all my innocence and concession, with nothing to carp, I refrain from calling it by the name I know it deserves. The street light, tall and hazy like a red wine candle – it summons me again, flushing my cheeks red. Maybe that’s just the wine.
Light. House. Light. House.
The conversation over dinner, the view from your roof, the drive home, alone – it was all too bold to call this home. Home for my ignorance, home for my love, I should not deny it this…but my mind? It does not need a crib. Once nurtured so, it would all too often swallow itself in a present of confusion. It doesn’t need a democracy anymore. It cannot call to any tangible home.
I chuckle to myself. I think you’re getting cocky, Mind.

He's a shifty little guy, that Mind of mine.

riko

Melbourne, Australia

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Artist's Description

It’s funny when your thoughts carry you away. He’s a shifty little guy, that Mind of mine.

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  • imagineering
  • nnimus3
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