Visions, Vol. 3: My’nd’imensional Jumps

All the time, so it goes,

a quick shift lifts my consciousness out the nearest window,

a random round-robin of rare realities rage,

ranging from what’s reasonable to the completely unfeasible,

my mind is a flip phone with T9, sometime in 2002, after 9 –

unlimited. It talks all it wants.

A gust of wind blows me back in,

a nano-second long journey takes me across the universe and snaps me back to my reality.

Then,

through the entropy of imagination, the cosmic jungle of all possibilities seen through my own unique lens,

I’m. Once. Again. pinballing through existence, leaning into this mysterious experience, with no resistance –

And here I am, back in an instant – sliding right into my third eye’s home plate, where it always begins, this,

Infinite, unpredictable winding pathway of pathways, it sounds overh’whelming in writing, but I find it lovely,

My thoughts are on shuffle, my mind jumps into the Google text box, but never hits ‘Search’ cuz I’m always ‘Feeling Lucky,’

My ego’s like Jasmine on the balcony: playing hard to get.

But just like Aladdin my imagination is stationed on his magic carpet,

hand outstretched with a smile, asking her, “Do you trust me?” – RSM

h’woooosh

My mind is always spinning.

I’m a fuckin’ whirlwind.

The curved air rolls with the force and speed of the images produced within my consciousness,

Third eye, dizzy –

Hitting all corners at least twice before realizing I’ve been spinning.

A grand, rotating revolution, spinning is the problem – and spinning is the solution!

Just endless spirals, lights of the night go round and round,

Images, viral, reaching right into my retinas as I recall the square frames

as I endlessly scroll down –

S

P

I

N

N

I

N

G

!

A regurgitation of recent memory, trains of thought criss-cross-crashing, flying off the rails,

airplanes flying, shooting my thoughts up high while spilling out white streaks of racing-thought chemtrails

SPINNING around, my point of view’s on ballerina style, just a Whirling Dervish,

morphing, contorting – an 18th century French poem, written in cursive – a lightly used, Hello Kitty themed furnace,

a concerned Greek chorus, singing, trying to warn us – a rebellious sect of spaghetti, bobbing and weaving away from a fork –

it’s, a natural force of the mind, subliminal– it keeps [spinning] it goes so fast, unpredictable,

Mind’s eye like a set of 24-inch Sprewell rims from 2003

a wheel within a wheel, a Mayan calendar of an experience

sPiNnNiNg I change channels in my head

From Tik-Tok clips to Cher’s greatest hits to random scenes from Eddie Murphy’s ‘Delirious’

I’m serious, just kaleido-scope into my third eye view, and see whatever comes to;

Mind you, at times its not intentional, the way it aligns, but,

nevertheless, I’m usually just a happy, little mess;

Rotating revolutions, all mixed with randomness,

Self-entertaining, that’s what my mind’s eye be like, fam;

If you catch me laughing to myself, no te apures I’m doing just fine!

I just paused on something funny I saw on my internal screens, and just had to hit re-wind. . .

Because, you see, my mind is always spinning.

I’m a fuckin’ whirlwind. – RSM

sdrowkcab

nehW I saw gnuoy, ebyam ekil thgie ro enin sraey dlo,


I detrats gnikool ta sdrow, dna dluow rednow


tahw ti dluow eb ekil fi hcae drow ew daer saw delleps morf thgir ot tfel.


I thguoht fo yreve drow I daer ni esrever,


ti emaceb os citamotua-


ti saw ym og ot gniht ot od elihw gnidaer gnihtyna, emityna, tsuj a modnar tibah;


gnikooL kcab, ti saw a citsiugnil tfig fo ym nwo doohdlihc noitanigami.


oS, s’ereh a peed kcabworht,
ot nehw I tup nwod, deppilf, dna esrevered sdrow ni ym elttil daeh os tsaf,


dna t’ndid ezilaer ti saw ytterp ssadab. -RSM

Immersive Daydreams, or Dissociation?

It happens so many times a day, I catch myself coming to, right before I walk right into you;

Yes, you, whoever’s right in front of me, walking towards me, almost a victim of my daydreams, since reality is sometimes bores me.

I’m surely thinking of 5 to 10 other things, at any given time, give it time, I’ll find a way to weave them all together, and altogether I’ll make ’em rhyme.

My daydreams have always been a bit strong, but it was never a concern until I learned of a certain word:

‘Dissociation’, the extremes of one’s consciousness stream distorted by a purely imagined false reality, identity, or scene.

I don’t suffer from anything official of the sort, but it’s a bit eerie, the level of daydreams on a daily that I report;

If my mind could record, it would catch a few dozen memories distorted and replayed in the mix of impromptu imaginary screenplays.

I like the way this works, a vivid brain does not necessarily make me insane, but I get a little paranoid, hypochondriac style, when I realize reality is sometimes tapping its foot, waiting, saying “You and your immersive daydreams need to stop playin’.”

I’ve always loved the way my thoughts flow, and along with my imagination they put on a show; I also know that DID is all too real, a different league, and hope that those who suffer from it get the help they need. ❤ – RSM

 

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