"I Was Not Magnificent"

Experimenting with the mind I don't think is difficult. But it can be dangerous. To play inside of an area to which your brain has restricted all access. But you can do it. Others can do it for you. I don't think our mind exists in the state where we believe ourselves to exist. Our mind exists in every corner and highway where our body had traveled. We have memories because we're connected to our mind.

I'm just talking late-night shit.

But what if it were true? How can we pinpoint the mind? I think it must float with us through life, like a dolphin might swim beside a fishing boat in the sea. There. Sometimes beneath us. Sometimes right at our eye level. Sometimes it leaves and comes back. Playful. Beautiful. Unable to quite be contained.

Now I really am talking late-night shit. And it's not very poetic or clean. But thoughts aren't always poetic and clean. Nothing is ever poetic and clean! Poetry. The mind.



And the silence of ten thousand angels fell to Heaven's floor
It beat the earth's atmosphere
It pounded on our door
But we cannot hear silence.