The B Movie in My Mind

"Really, now you ask me," said Alice, very much confused, "I don't think--"
"Then you shouldn't talk," said the Hatter.
-from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll

But what if you think too much? Should you talk more? What if talking isn't an option at the moment?

Moments like this creep up on me unawares, much like the fog in Carl Sandurg's poem:

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

On the surface, nothing seems out of the ordinary: the little ones are safe and snug in bed, the cursor is blinking on the screen, the smoke is curling lazily from the tip of my cigarette to merge sinuously with the ghostly one rising from my coffee, the drapes in front of me flutter once in a while at the odd gust of wind. There is no clock in this room, so I can't really tell if time has stood still--for at the moment, it sure seems as if it has.

Everything is quiet, peaceful, serene. But the room that is my mind is far from tranquil at the moment. Thoughts are chasing each other here and there; one thought is only halfway to being born before being supplanted by another. It's kind of like the pain of childbirth: one cramp has hardly ebbed before a bigger and more powerful one roars in and takes over and nothing else exists--it doesn't allow any room for any coherent thought. The kaleidoscope of pain bears down on all your senses, shattering your world--in that moment, it is your whole world.

It's like a movie projector possessed by the devil himself is spewing random thoughts, random images in my mind. But are they really random? Or are they all connected somehow? Is my subconscious trying to tell me something? Then why the hell doesn't it just say it outright? Why subject me to thoughts like: watching a sunrise one chilly morning; the sweetness of a fresh tomato; lines from Neruda's If You Forget Me, from Shakespeare's Sonnet XXIX, from Ogden Nash's More About People; the jangling of keys; footprints in the sand, an overripe banana. My fingers can hardly keep up with the images running through my mind--I give up.

I close my eyes. I try to imagine something peaceful: something green, or something blue. I succeed, stillness is achieved for several nanoseconds--before those greens and blues lead to other thoughts--images--of the most tumultuous greens and the most tantalizing blues. I give up yet again. I am such a pathetic dumbass.

Would that there was a switch to shut them all up--these voices and thoughts doing the most splendiferous Mardi Gras in my mind, without a care as to who they might be bothering--or at least slow them down.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I am a hollow reed...

Nope, that isn't working for me now.

Perhaps, like Sandburg's fog, these thoughts will move on. Or maybe a thought will come, one that is so strong, so forceful that it will overpower all these inconsequential (?) gremlins that are wreaking havoc on my mind and sanity. Perhaps.

I'm going to try get some work done now. Doesn't mean I'll succeed, but I'll certainly try.