wouldn’t life be grand if we had some sort of magic mystery machine to record the thoughts we have in our head. not like the government recording our thoughts, but just like an internal tape recorder, one we could go back and listen to when we wanted to. you know, because then you could get the thoughts just right. it’d be perfect.
see, for me the thoughts. . . i speak them inside my head first. i talk all the time. it’s my voice and i can feel rumbling somwhere in the vicinity behind my nose. that’s where the voice in my head resides, i suppose. at least that’s where i think i can hear it. and really i want this machine so i can get the ideas down.
if y’all could hear the voice inside my head you’d realize that i am amazing. because that voice, it’s eloquent and it always finds the right words. always.
that’s why i need a little recording device. one that can hear that voice that resides in there. because for some reason, i cannot seem to get the ideas out correctly. i mean, i do ok. better than most. but really, it’s no contest. it seems i lose a lot in translation. it feels like self-censorship of sorts.
it’s odd because i can think the thinks, but i lose them somehow in translation. the eloquence of the voice inside my head is mangled, misconstrued and generally mishandled by my own voice, the voice that people can hear– by my fingers.
it really isn’t fair at all.
and while i am thinking about it. when you think about your head. you know, the thoughts and what not that go on in your brain, do you get a mental image? maybe a room? or i dunno something other than the wrinkly-bologna colored brainy stuff?
because when i think about my head, maybe where the voice in my head lives. . i always picture a dusty attic. it’s got the beams showing and skylight. you can see all the dust dancing in the sunshine. it’s hardly furnished at all. it’s just dusty with an old rug on the hardwood floor and in the corner, right behind my left eye, is a mirror. it’s one of those oval, old-fashioned mirrors in a stand. i never look in the mirror it’s just there.
so maybe i am a bit crazy. i think i might have spent too much time with my nose in a book this morning. or too much time daydreaming.
i won’t even begin to tell you why i think my soul lives in the base of my spine, right near my ass.