Sometimes you can't speak about your mind, so you write about it.

Today on the bus on the way home from visiting the folks I noticed the seatbelt strap for wheelchairs staring at me from the corner of my eye. Yes, it was staring- for that split second between noticing something and processing it for what it actually is, I believed it to be a one-eyed metallic creature with a gaping maw poking out from the interior wall of the bus.

Shit like that happens to me all the time, perhaps the byproduct of an overactive imagination, but I really do see these things... I suppose the easiest, most plain way I can put it is that I always see things in other things. Generally my first perception of something isn't at all forced and with an ever-so-slightly skewed perspective, an everyday object turns into an alien-face.

Maybe I should explain that, huh?

I have this Janis Joplin poster on my wall, oversized close-up of her at some festival shaking maracas and being all musical. Well during the night, sometimes, I'll wake up and for a second or two I see the face of an alien... and many others things, from time to time, that we dare not mention.

It's the one behind me, here:

We won't even get into the Hallucinogenic Torreador poster that used to hang in my room... or the Chat Noir poster whose eyebrows, on those extra special nights, would seem like they were frowning more than usual. Eyes more slanty, more villainy, more out to get me.

Strange thoughts come to those who are tired, or... other.

But who's to say those things aren't hidden within these photos? Because they were not intended images doesn't mean they are not valid, does it? Intention isn't everything, that we know. That I know. Sometimes I am truly convinced that everything we experience, whether known, accepted, or whatever, is entirely based on perception, not just partially. Some things seem solid, seem concrete, seem like they'll never change... but then particles shift, vibrations are out of sync, and everything that seemed so clear is suddenly so wrong... and another picture emerges to take its place.

But is this picture the intended one? All that other stuff surely must have been night visions, paranoid thoughts of an underslept being, intoxicated brain farts...yet, they all seemed so very real. Split seconds or eons, it doesn't really matter because you saw what you saw and you believed it... time seems incongruous with what is.

Who knows.