Sometimes I wonder if I'm mad. The thoughts I have are foreign and unintelligible, which, if you ponder it, is somewhat unforgivable that a producer can not recognize its product when made whole.
At the same time it makes me glad. To be a mystery to one's own self is at once both frustrating and inviting, like getting to go on an adventure with an age old friend where fulfillment is both journey and goal.
To chuckle at imagined jokes, conspiring together, struggling to stifle wildly inappropriate banter, wondering what that stranger ever did to deserve what my silent friend has planned in reserve.
Yet I can't help but constantly question if this passenger is a part or portion of the entity I frequently prefer to refer to as "little old me?" Or whether a specter lingers beneath the cobwebs of this grayish-white tree.
About the Creator
DionGrio (Mak Wey)
I'm the one griot; The angry O; The pondering O; The hungry O. I tell stories about things I know to be true and eternal; Stories that I hope will connect and move you to better understand the world and yourself as writing them did for me.
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