You are not your thoughts

Below is a prompt-response from last week. There was a line in a shared poem that was structured: “All of my __________s are ______________ing.”


All of  my thoughts are turning black, a black run through with quivering rust. An alive black, in other words, like a gleaming blob of paint or an oozing puddle of oil. Rust signaling metallic processes of age.

All of my thoughts sprout wings, but not to soar and gain drone-like perspective above tree-lined streets, car lights at night like traveling jewels. No, more like a statue of Mercury, whose sandals are cutely adorned with wings but who, being carved out of marble, is going exactly nowhere.

You could take a trip to Barcelona. You could call in a chit for Aspen. You might even consider Great Barrington, somewhere with wi-fi, somewhere hospitable to dogs. But no, bench and pillow, table, puzzle and cloud-cover — at last! — all conspire to keep you in place.

I watched a video about a table upgrade. Some guy started by pouring black paint in its center. The table was round; the paint in five gallon cans. Next, pea green, poured around the black center. Orange, white, more green, a band of black, and ending with a rim of white, he walked in circles, pouring paint. And then, I guess we were supposed to be impressed, he used a garden rake to perform a basic paper-marbling technique. He dragged the paint first one way, then at exactly right angles, the other way. The tines made furrows of color. Green flirted with white, orange intersected waves of black. Some sort of design. But that black center didn’t give way and the effect did not please in the end.

My thoughts are the black paint being run through by an amateur crafter overly pleased with himself, dragging little furrows of white and green into my darkness.

This morning, I refuse specifics. My friends do not and vary in their beliefs. One predicts a pardon, another shakes her head and gravely pronounces, “No consequences. There will be no consequences.” Some feisty part of me believes that someone is gonna nail the bastard. Orange run through with black.

Representation, espionage, a special master? Threats of riots. Lists so long and so classified, they cannot even be described in public. Quick! Someone speak to me of roses. How they vary — climbing, vining, shrubbed or miniature, fragrant or not, astonishing in their delicate feminine beauty. The tall Betty Priors that graced our lot line in the 90’s have long since perished, a struggling native magnolia in their place. This summer even the reliable hosta struggle and wilt.

Struggle and wilt, go my thoughts. Even the ones that were chlorophyll-informed. Looking to sun, subsisting on sun, not quite the opposite of black paint run through with rust, but almost.

Is it possible my thoughts are hiding from me — fey, mercurial, interruptive of ambition and sense? Maybe. But I think I’d feel more relief if that were so. Instead, a metal-tined garden rake is drug across my forehead, trying to turn darkness into a DYI design.

21 thoughts on “You are not your thoughts

  1. Anonymous

    I would speak to you or roses but all I can see beyond the petals are the thorns…

    all of my thoughts are escalating into thoughts of treason and consequences…

    for the Mar A Largo dangerous, clueless imbecile…

    for his cronies, especially the little man from South Carolina who sees nothing wrong with inciting to riot…

    all of my thoughts want obstruction of justice at the very least…

    all of my thoughts are so wanting those who would take to the streets in defense of this con-man to finally get a clue and understand the meaning of hoodwinked and betrayal…

    all of my thoughts are holding onto democracy.

    1. deemallon Post author

      This is a little less of a story-telling comment than usual Marti, but I think I would’ve guess it was you anyway. ALL OF MY THOUGHTS ARE HOLDING ONTO DEMOCRACY.

      Yes. And yes.

    2. Tina

      Marti .. Yes Yes Yes May all your wishes come true! Sooner than later!!! I can’t believe we are still even talking about this monster 👹

      1. deemallon Post author

        It’s astonishing how much oxygen he has sucked (and continues to suck) out of the body politic, how much damage to millions of peoples’ mental health he’s imposed, and then the security risks?!

  2. Tina

    Sitting here reading this when Nik our daughter called from outside where she goes out to smoke 😡 said to come look. Just came back in from seeing dozens of dragonflies circling round and round ..
    I’m reminded there is still so much beauty … he’ll never be able to take away.

  3. Liz A

    your writing, as always, is incredible … how you weave words into thoughts … such good words, such potent thoughts … how you paint mind pictures, ever so much better than the fool with the rake could ever hope to paint a table

    and sorry, but I couldn’t help myself … All of my parts are sagging

  4. Nancy

    I’ve been here, read more than once…agree with the others about your writing Dee. There is so much ugly…thanks goodness for spaces like yours where we can find inspiration, comfort, learning and companionship during these days. xo

  5. Laura

    I’m glad you wrote that; I keep thinking it’s just me…
    BTW, I have seen the same video of the poured paint and raked table.
    Enough of 24-hour news, perhaps? Hahaha!
    I’m going outside in the 104* heat to search for a white gerbera for my blue vase. TY
    I love to read your blog.


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