I have a mind like a rusty old carnival funhouse. Give your tokens to the cigar chomping Carnie at the yawning funhouse maw and step inside. Have a seat in the peeling vinyl gondola and bump along the squeaky monorail. Random things will pop up and giggle, shake their animatronics, hydraulics will wheeze and gasp, then the rickety lot will fade into the dry ice fog; they’re not necessarily scary… just… random. Forge on through the rampant fluff that litter the floors and mind your footing; this is a carnival fun house. Things will drop out, shift tangents, completely invert, revert, and subvert your previous perspectives. Don’t get lost, bring a Garmin, because there are no maps where you’re going. Just be aware that concepts in the rear view mirror may appear more cognizant than they are.

Afraid? If you think I’m weird, I know you might need to expand your mind a little. Ideas and opinions are representative of the reigning authority. This is me changing the world, one mind at a time.

some gazed pitiously
limbs outstretched
some jangled their
heads in confusion
others, weak and feeble
made a woebegone scene

I dropped my trinkets
at every base
unsure of if it helped or hurt
as I got to the end
finding my pockets empty
took my place among them

—————-

I saw a battle in the park one day
A battle of ages waged over eons
Where time was retrospect
An after thought
They wound and wend
both bark and bite
stretching and striking
To be the one that
got to snatch the sun

——————

my eyes burn
I put my hand on your scalp
smooth and speckled
and kissed your nose
it was beginning to grow cold
I stayed day and night and day
waiting and watching
the beep beep beep
of time running out
I left almost as soon
as you did
but not without
one last kiss
and my eyes
still burn

I know that someone has to figure out exactly why “snow is white” if and only if the snow really is white. There has to be the scholarly pursuit of the eternal “why” of names and definite descriptors and articles of expression within the American English language. There really is an intellectual necessity for those who devote their lives to the love of wisdom and knowledge.

I am personally pleased that it is not my passion.

I. Am. Choking. On. The. Academese.

I thought anthropologists were bad about using extraneous modifiers, honorifics and excessive quantifiers and qualifiers all throughout their scholarly interpretation of humanity. Humanity, being of fluid nature and difficult definition, seems to imply the necessity of complex correlative contemplation (Points for academic alliteration).

Never have I had to forcibly cram such superfluous vocabulary down my gullet with the vague hopes of academically regurgitating some semblance of an understanding for a proper participation grade. I look toward the end and the term writing with some trepidation as I will be required to do the same. I already lose enough sleep on statements like  “Present King of France” and the dogmas of empiricism that’s rolling around in my skull lacking any real tether and so lost to the rest of the fluff that is compacted between my ears.

I have a passion for the scholarly arts. I do. It is simply in my opinion that the energy required to analyze the predicates of analytic and synthetic truths of language could be applied towards applicable human necessity. Perhaps I am not seeing the forest for the trees, and sitting in the ground zero of classroom dynamic, I’m suffering an indistinguishable skewed perspective. I may pull this knowledge out of the annals of my mind, blow off the dust, and crack the lid and find treasure. For now, I devote my time and energy into my personally preferable venues.

However, those usually end in blurred vision and equally blurred memories.