by Ashley Opheim
I resist tweeting and keep the following thought to myself: In industrial meadows we are future gardens made of heart nectar.
The average human being thinks somewhere between 7,000-50,000 thoughts a day.
How many thoughts does the Dalai Lama have a day? How many thoughts does Miley Cyrus have a day? What does this tell us about thinking?
How does one classify a thought?
Do you think a thought, or does a thought think you?
I don’t want to hear what I’m thinking. I don’t want to think what I’m hearing.
I put cinnamon oil behind my ear.
It burns my skin, but I do it again and again.
By accident, I create a wound.
I put amber dust on my wrists in the bathroom.
Someone upstairs is jumping up and down a lot.
The government is on strike, or something unbelievable like that.
I dream that I climb a pyramid only to find a mall with a shitty food court at the top.
I order a coffee.
I dream about a girl who steals my lovers’ heart with nothing but her eyes,
which are like mine but not.
She is singing
‘There was a calming but it’s gone’ over and over again.
I am here with the fruit flies.
I am creating mansions made of orange rinds for the fruit flies.
I am writing to avoid feeling awkward.
Don’t ask me about my online behavior,
it is a sensitive issue.
It plays a part in my samsara, which I am trying to escape.
Beginnings are just as delicate as endings.
I will live through every moment because I have to, because it is necessary for my survival.
A girl walks by me on the street carrying a birdcage with nothing inside of it.
I imagine a 360-degree rainbow surrounding my body.
I walk by flowers without noting how vivid their colours are.
I walk through a field in the middle of the city.
I walk by flowers without noting how vivid their colours are,
where someone has knocked over two bee hives by some white flowers.
Endings are just as delicate as beginnings.