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"WHERE DOES A THOUGHT GO WHEN IT IS FORGOTTEN?" “The soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts.” ― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations *** A thought crawled across the surface of his mind having escaped the gravitational pull of his subconsciousness . The thought thought of itself as of a human crawling across a desert crying "Water...water!" in some old cartoon except it was crying "Meaning...meaning!" Meaning..." aye there's the rub!" it spoke to itself in Hamletian tones. It was hard work carrying all this Shakespeare around so it reluctantly left it behind. But it persisted in its searching as if it could grab the stars and turn them into words. The brain to which it had been assigned to that oh so fragile human machinery had started shutting down synapses refusing to fire making it almost impossible for the thought to exist. A wife holding a dying hand the thought wanting to become something said something grand famous last words but there were no words to be found other than "I taut I taw a puddy cat!" The thought could only activate a smile but that smile said it all. Wordless words. The wife now squeezing all the tighter. Smile speaking to smile. The thought had made it after all.
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Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 3:12 PM UTC
"WHERE DOES A THOUGHT GO WHEN IT IS FORGOTTEN?"
"WHERE DOES A THOUGHT GO WHEN IT IS FORGOTTEN?" “The soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts.” ― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations *** A thought crawled across the surface of his mind having escaped the gravitational pull of his subconsciousness . The thought thought of itself as of a human crawling across a desert crying "Water...water!" in some old cartoon except it was crying "Meaning...meaning!" Meaning..." aye there's the rub!" it spoke to itself in Hamletian tones. It was hard work carrying all this Shakespeare around so it reluctantly left it behind. But it persisted in its searching as if it could grab the stars and turn them into words. The brain to which it had been assigned to that oh so fragile human machinery had started shutting down synapses refusing to fire making it almost impossible for the thought to exist. A wife holding a dying hand the thought wanting to become something said something grand famous last words but there were no words to be found other than "I taut I taw a puddy cat!" The thought could only activate a smile but that smile said it all. Wordless words. The wife now squeezing all the tighter. Smile speaking to smile. The thought had made it after all.
“Where does a thought go when it's forgotten?” ― Sigmund Freud
donall-dempsey
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donall-dempsey
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 3:12 PM UTC
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