A New York Mind

New York as a metaphor for the state of my mind.

My brain is not a temple. My brain is not a shrine. My brain isn't a house, a duplex, a mansion, or even an apartment building. My brain is New York City. Loved for its art and culture, but loathed for its high thought crime rate.
The heights of my intellectual Broadway could sweep you off your feet, fill your eyes with a thousand stars, or just mug you before you even get to the show.
My Central Park is vibrant with emotional flora, handsome concept cabs, and creative attractions. It's scenic and beautiful iif you don't mind all the druggies and perverts.
My upper bay lobes hold a proud Statue of Liberal Ideologies, rising from an island of emotion. She welcomes foreign ideas with open arms before letting them get trampled by the yellow taxis of my consciousness.
My Rockefeller Center is 24-hour showtime, broadcasting my wit and humor. Its structures are classic, old, and smell like pee from the outside.
My streets are paved with hopes and dreams, yet littered by my checkered past. And like any major city, there are some places where you just don’t go.
My skyscraper beliefs are built from philosopher’s stones, rods of iron will, and panes of clear observation.
My Carnegie Hall plays all kinds of music from Rock & Rebellion to Classical Misinterpretation.
My subways are crowded with wanton sexual needs, rushing through tunnels of hunger and fueled by instant gratification.

That's my mind. Vibrant and dirty. Romantic and dangerous.

It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.


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Author's Note

Ignore spelling!
My portfolio can be found at asadowning.com