my brain in a blender!

if you took my brain out of the skull it sits in and stuck it in a blender, you'd get some kind of funky pink sludge.

and from that sludge would arise a cloud of vapor

the vapor of my hopes and dreams, half-formed imaginings of what i might do someday when i figure out what exactly it is i'm meant to. if i figure it out

i have a whole world at my fingertips but i can't bring myself to snap - a snap that could create a universe or just a small clicking noise that echoes inside my mind as the touch of my fingertip lingers on my palm.

if you were to take that pink sludge and put it back inside my skull i wouldn't be me anymore - with pudding for a control center my eyes could never paint the pictures they see

and what a delight it is to look around and see pictures! to open my eyes every morning and take in the world... i'd miss it if my brain were sludge

i think my favorite sense is smell. in the springtime, at least. i could spend my whole life breathing in the cool wetness of a spring morning or the faint hint of salt in the air wafting inland from the beach. i can smell the ninth grade in a peach baby lips.

i am an amalgamation of joints that crack and roll and twist and propel this body through a lifetime, and my brain revolves inside itself like the blades of a smoothie maker, chopping up words and flinging them back together by chance. i hold on to so many words

if i could build a world i would build it out of words. big words and small words, words next to one another that had never met before; words stacked on top of each other to create buildings, and other words dripping down from mountaintops like melting snow rolling to meet the ground. if i could live in a world of words i would dance with them and i would eat them for every meal and i would roll on the floor in a pile of them. i would worship the words around me; i would become a word.

if you were to hold a cup of my pink brain sludge up next to someone else's, you could never tell the difference. you'd never know about my worlds of words and my infant dreams. you might be able to smell them, but is there a point in comparing the olfactory impact of one person's dreams to another's?

i'm waiting for a day when what i need to do becomes clear to me - the day when i can hold a word in my hand like a compass and let it lead me someplace

before i fall asleep i will oil the hinges of my skull, but i will tighten its lock and pray it stays shut until the morning.