02 July 2010

When it Comes to Desert Islands, Your Brain is the Worst One of All













Cavernous is the only word I can think to describe it. It holds things. It stores them. Sometimes, when nature interferes, the things that are stored are lost or misplaced or forgotten. The more you pile things in, the further back the older things go into the abyss. It is only as big as it can be; you can't stretch rock, you know. It just doesn't work like that.

One may wander into this cavern, though it isn't something I would recommend. And if I did, there would be some kind of Surgeon General's Warning before it. Or a disclaimer of sorts. Just so I can make sure that, if one was to trip over clutter or seemingly useless things - which is almost guaranteed to happen - that person could not sue the owner of said cavern. Because there was a warning. Because that person should really look where she or he is walking so as to avoid tripping. And that extends to all parts of life, really. Watch one's feet.

Cavernous. Another -ous word to describe it would be dangerous. There are random projectiles that fly about without warning and without any kind of purpose. They may be originally attached to the point of focus, but then a piece will break off and roll to something completely different, and that something completely different will go off shooting to another part of the cavern, causing something else to move, and it will continue as such until one is merely clumped like kitty litter into a ball on the floor, covering one's neck from moving parts. You don't want to rip the jugular. I hear that's pretty much fatal.

Yes, I would call it cavernous. I would call it dangerous. I would also call it a prison.

I cannot escape it.

I cannot leave it.

I find that most of my time is spent here, even when on the brink of sleep. It somehow swallows me whole when I am not looking.

If only I could manage to turn out the light.

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