Mind Pollution

I have come to the realization that I am suffering from an incurable case of mind pollution. No, not because of the unannounced appearance of Janet Jackson's breast on the halftime show, but because of all the clutter I cannot seem to discard. The décor of my mind has more and more become a mismatched collection of old and useless memories. If only I could have a mind sale and make a profit from my personal scrap heap.

As I wander around the jungle that is my ego I am continuously discovering archaic ideas and outdated memories. Some of the memories may be worth keeping but for the most part they should have been taped over long ago. There are snippets of songs without titles. There are bits of dialogue without film. There are even pages of books with long forgotten plot lines.

Further back in the darker recesses of my mind lies a toxic waste dump. Filled with the tattered remains of broken hearts that can be seen clinging to the cerebrum like bats in a damp and musty cave. Here also can be found pools of pain and sorrow, collected and stored, a reservoir of half remembered tears.

If only God had thought about providing me with an alt-control-delete button so I could reboot my system and start over. Maybe something a bit more practical a memory scrubber of some type that I could use to remove the garbage, open a few windows and air out the place.

Of course if I could do that I would quickly run out of material to write about. All in all I guess this imperfect storage system is one that I will have to live with. I will continue to blindly tour the halls of my mind hoping to find my way beyond the mind pollution.