If I blew my skull open, splattered my brain onto the blank wall behind me, let it drip down into pools that echoed my former consciousness, I wonder what it would look like.
I bet there would be glitter there. From the excitement I hold inside of me and from the goodness in my depths. And I bet the light would hit the glitter and the wall with my brain-splatter would shine. But with the shine would come shadows. Perhaps some darkness in comparison. The pain and suffering would hide there, in those shadows now painted on the wall I’d been standing near.
There would be bright colors. Oh yes, there would be bright neons and vibrant hues, rainbows of colors beyond what you could even dream. They’d be splotched together in chaos but it would look beautiful from afar. Just take a few steps back. Zoom out, broaden your view, and you’ll see that the disorganization has purpose. Creates something larger. Sometimes mess can only be appreciated when you walk away from it.
The colors may form more than random splotches. They may melt into ambiguous shapes or patterns or designs. I imagine hearts and stars and flowers, lines that swirl and curl and curve. My doodles made real. The colors may come together to create larger pictures, too. Scenic scapes. Or maybe memories. Maybe the significant times would be blown out of my head and onto the blank slate I’d been standing in front of. The deep conversations. The climbs from the trenches, the exhilarating rides, the falls that taught lessons.
There would be words there, in the mix. On that wall that was formerly blank but is now covered with a visual display created from the thing that housed my very essence. Of course there would be words. I am made of them. I collect and carry them and grow and expand them. Then I release them into the world as meaning and understanding and hope and excitement and emotion. Sometimes I plant them and watch them transform. Sometimes I fling them outside of myself, vigorously send them away, because there’s been such a buildup of them inside of me. Sometimes I keep them for myself, the words that are important to me.
The wall behind me would be indicative of such importance. Words strewn between the colors. They would tell stories of happiness and sadness. They’d speak of defeat and triumph. They’d be woven between the glitter and the shadows, balanced as a line between.
Other words on the wall would take the form of thoughts I’d had. The thoughts would have the ability to escape into the ether directly, through no effort of my own. They’d just float from my obliterated skull into the world encapsulating it. Fly away free from the tethers of my conscious mind, the mind that never ceased for a fraction of a moment.
Currently, my thoughts twist around my mind and vice versa. They snake up along one another, mingling into a mess of confusion for me. Neither is whole. My thoughts aren’t their own entity and my mind isn’t what it necessarily wants to be. Their existence is so muddled, the two of them. But when my brain blows, covering the wall behind me with light and sparkles and struggle and blackness, the thoughts will no longer be bound down with consciousness. They’ll exist in their own right. And I won’t have to fucking worry about them.
If I blew my brains out the crazy now living on the wall behind me would be apparent. Instantly noticeable. But if you look at the image differently, turn your head in curiosity, maybe the crazy would look like creativity.
Sometimes I wish I could do it. Blow my brain open and see what it looks like. It would be art. That’s for sure.
But maybe I don’t have to. Maybe instead of using a wall for a canvas I could paint my brain onto you.
Because that’s art too.
Again, I wrote this super quickly, without stopping. I’m proud of myself for just getting all the words out without second-guessing myself or anything. I didn’t proof it, really, and I dunno if it makes sense. But hopefully someone gets the kind of metaphor I’m going for here.
Advice is welcome! Maybe someone else would be able to help me make my point more articulately and eloquently or just overall BETTER. I’m tryingggg to be the writer I know I’m capable of being. I know I need formal training, and I’m working on that, but yeah…advice welcome…
Thanks for reading, internet!!!