Mind-tailings.

by Chardo Blue Plains

All my life I have stumbled through mind-tailings, not knowing. All our lives we have stumbled through mind-tailings, not knowing. Even as we clumsily inhabit this paradise called earth, we far more clumsily inhabit this ever-growing, ever-changing mountain of cast-off somethings. Innocently meretricious mentational offal? Ideational roughage? "Thoughtage"? Crumbled rock strata of incalculable age tossed aside to get at the (we think) far more valuable coal, or gold, or diamonds, even.

If I knew you, often enough one of these unnamed somethings coming somehow from you (through you?) would suddenly lie in my self-centered way and I’d stumble, hardly noticing, like the miner tossing yet another meaningless rock aside in the endless search for gold, or coal, or diamonds, even. Even not knowing you, if you read this it’s quite possible that down some unlikely slough a sloshing, messy wash of stone bearing your imprint will flash my way, impeding us both briefly, momentarily, on our path to dualist perdition.

END

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