Sometimes I think squirrels have something to hide. Nothing acts that cute without an agenda… a Dark Agenda.

Sometimes, when I’m mad at God, I litter.

Sometimes I wonder if when I bite off a finger nail and cast it away, Am I destroying untold galaxies and civilizations within it.

Sometimes I wonder if Mark Twain was the devil. Not for any real reason, he just seemed to know a little more than he ought to.

Sometimes I think vampires are real. They just wear suits and work in offices shaped like Ovals. Stake through the heart still does it though.

Sometimes thoughts trickle in, sometimes they pour, sometimes they flood, and sometimes I drown… I would call that empirical proof that I have water on the brain.

Sometimes I wonder if there is a secret word that will turn me into a super hero, a wizard, or a god.

Sometimes I wonder if you would like it here inside my head, if you would be at comfort amongst the Spider webs and the ginger snaps. Would you delve deep into the books of nonsense that line the walls of this inner sanctum? Would you read enrapt in the chaotic prose of each page long into the purple nights? Would you dig into the fresh dirt, the mud and mire of the fields of self actualization? Would you dance with the skeletons in my closet, would they dip you low in a classy waltz or gyrate you sensuously in a lilting litany of low bowed lambada? Would you embrace my inner child, send him to bed with warm milk and cookies? Or would you cower in the shadows of my dark corners, would you claw at the back of my eyes to leave that place? Would you burst through my ear drums in abject horror as the jumpy 8mm scenes of inner depravity played themselves out? If you knew the depths of the light and the dark, the order and the chaos, the sane and maddening, would you stay or would you go. I wonder if you lived for a day in my head, and I lived for a day in yours, if it would make everything feel right, if it would make everything understood and let the hammer ring in harmony, or would we never be able too look each other in the eyes again, would that day end in delight, or disgust, in truth, or mistrust.

I suppose tomorrow will tell, it whispers in my ear of eateries and epiphanies, of beauty and light. Tomorrow shall reveal all, but today is steeped in fog. And sometimes…

Sometimes.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 13th, 2008 at and is filed under J.J. Sunshine's. You can follow any responses to this entry through the
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