134 My Brain, Revealed

Scan with a neuro-cephalo-magneto-contrapulator--MY BRAIN, revealed:

Dominos, stacked in trails of topsy-turvy predestination, lined up--serpentine--erect and vertical. (Ready to fall, penis allusions otherwise fall short.)

Several paths are doomed, migratory waves of Domino-smacks-Domino, in explosive asides evoking the tinkling of other trails to mid-fall, serially, toward the next synaptic strike, interwoven as a gestalt of an author's vague awareness.

What of that original finger pushing the first monolith jumpstarting the collapses long ago? Was it God?

Is it Dave? ("My God, it's full of stars!")

For every path of fallen Dominos there is someone picking up the pieces, resetting each one upright--in perilous adjacency to others--before and after.

Who or what is picking up my pieces? More importantly, why?

En garde! It's my conscience!

Some falling Domino tracts are longer than others:

Some clickclack tangentially into impotent disarrays;

Others flickflack into important disobeys.

All lay about,

All played out.

The Dominos for pain and lust are the fastest fallen, although a special Domino can effect both.

Sometimes abeyance arises, a lucid interval! My Dominos set up and ready--all of them--in orderly expectation, but quiet...in detente. It's a beautiful thing to see. Until some prick, uninvited, steals in to knock one down and...the rest--as they say--is rotisserie. Wait! Was that me?

Cadunt, ergo sum: They fall, therefore I am.

A noisy process--hundreds of metronomes oscillating a song of madness. A careful listen hears a rhythm, an obtuse, wandering melody, occasionally striking an ominous tone to the entire clickety timbre. If I were to sing it aloud, you'd cry--releasing all of the various emotions that crying was evolved to express--joy, pain, nostalgia, love, hate, and even for a thumb after a careless encounter with a hammer (which, like all hammers, thought it was a nail).

My inner monologue is a clicking language, like the special linguistics that comprise Damin, a ritual vocabulary of the Lardil of northern Queensland.

Sometimes when I click too fast, oxymorons drip out--drool's mental equivalent.

Soon I'll introduce color to the little black-and-white rectangles; substitute rhombi for dots. Maybe even lay several Dominos atop each other as a dead-end stop. Just to hold that thought!

Before the next prick comes along. Wait--that'll be me!

__________

For Monday, May 13, Day 134 of the Story-a-Day Challenge.

366 WORDS (without A/N)

All pictures are AI-generated, but the headache is not!

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