Poetry on Playing the Game

8 Jun

My thoughts, I control. Emotions, unabashedly, control me.

If my cognitive processes were economic capitol, I would invest all my money into stocks to become a shareholder of my thoughts, persuaded by no extra-ordinary thought quantity or quality, but by their symphonic boom, how one argument splits into two sides zig zagging advocates, an angel and a devil, a 0 and a 1, a halo and a pitchfork, binary adversaries bouncing ideas off one another using the split to illuminate and absorb each others color – in fact, the shadow of white and the form of the Other- mix and match substance until it tapers into a gray, producing a product like the molding  clay to put on the market and sell it full price and fare trade: original and home grown, multi-faceted and every facet organic. An artisan assembly of two sides ability to be challenge by their reflective reflections in the mirror, backwards positions uprooted from the same cognition, to consider the competitor as the I not the Other, and re-frame the idea that competition is between two entities: not only are we competing with ourselves, we are competing within ourselves. Thus. the strength of the argument, and the strength of the self , are dependent upon one united internal compass to guide our everyday lives towards moderation. As my own investment banker it would profit me greatly, to invest in my own propaganda and ride my waves of thoughts to shoreline safety , but no. To dismiss my shortcomings and relax in the shade under an umbrella of 8-pronged supported strengths is giving up on the idea that I may be great one day. Me? I’m the type to rather scrape my knee than not play the game.

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