I am Izell Robinson, Minnesota inmate number 210006.
Today, I wanted to share a piece I wrote for a prison scholarship opportunity where it’s a company that offers prisoners scholarship money to do college courses, and you write an essay to a topic they give. And the topic they gave was, they wanted to know my idea of what is the meaning of a mind that does not stick. So the title of this piece is “What is the meaning of a mind that does not stick to me?” It’s a question.
Cognitive thinking fragments, they shatter in numerous directions. The workings of an indecisive mind introduce dithering thoughts of catastrophe silently to become an intrusive lobotomy that depresses the conscious of will and distresses meager ambitions.
That is until optimism unapologetically alters the limbic system, replacing that would-be confident personality with a self-doubting persona, or to be clinically correct: a state of cognitive disequilibrium. It is this imbalance of confusion in the mind, the unglued thoughts relentlessly perplexing the desire to commit. All ideas begin to be ever-changing because uncertainty has fought the frontal lobe. Thinking becomes a block of transfused concepts that never fully mature.
Yet the desire to allow thoughts persist is like feeding the brainwaves electrical impulses. This is a mental scenario for shock therapies, shocking the conscious to formulate nerve or apprehension. Although conscious must be aligned with thoughts to form a consistent pattern of buoyancy in order to develop a mind that does stick.
To me, a mind that does not stick is mental fatigue. There’s no cognitive equilibrium. The cerebellum races off balance because ideas are constantly running suicides through the cerebrum. This exhaustion imbibes the perfume of thinking thinking and the mist of dreams left crucified, the unfair sacrificing of potential.
Now the mind becomes a rules of oscillating skepticism. It becomes the answer to Langston Hughes’ question, what becomes of a dream deferred? And constant thought is guided to enter revolt as [inaudible] thinking reluctantly silences to a faint memory. At this point, uncertainties become aesthetic as near-sighted dreams become void in the occipital lobe. The potential for the future has been blinded while the mind shifts from first to fifth gear in and out of consciousness, immediately triggering a celebration of thoughts at rapid speed, overwhelming the dendrite as reasoning pulses nervously traveled without certitude to conquer inhibition.
Yes: fear becomes [inaudible] in an axon, because despite the shakiness of the brain, muscles of the mind tense up to a degree that thinking is unpredictable. Besides, this is a fear I know all too well, as I have been timid about going beyond the surface of my own thoughts. I believe the neurons are deterred by an inner spirit of defeatism from relaying the messages of understanding and success.
In fact, the temporal lobe has become autocratic to the brain that every thought appears to be shackled, like thoughts that are held back from fully blooming, like flowers in the spring, and frequently watered with impunity to grow beyond the simplicity of it tomorrow of a tumultuous wavering. Therefore the not-sticking can only be defined as infidelity. It is a cheated mind of vertigo that has lost all the quorum because what were once authentic thoughts have become fatuous. All clairvoyance within thinking has derived out of not.
Yet it is this not that has dissolved intrinsic principles of committed thinking, planning, and action. I see this as the eruption of a self-raising that works against morals and ideals that worked and calculated in the stages of life. I have experienced those thoughts that become unglued from the mental tourniquet sustaining the erudition of my mind. It was at this point in life that I became a bit [inaudible] and content on getting by, on my winsome personality. My outlook on what I was to become went from limited to foggy in the midst of personal hardship, a sad truth.
But I could not have inherited this thought chromosome from my family, because my hereditary makeup is derived from parents who excel to the best of their abilities. Their model was Dr. King’s words: “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.”
However, I have been mentally inebriated, submerged in drunken thoughts and wasted thinking. So if my mind is being timed for success, it is not sticking with the deadline, because when mind’s eyes went blind, all dreams and thoughts flatlined: clear, clear, clear.
There is no pulse, no motivation, or push for ambition within this dome. Here, deferred dreams and thoughts rub against each other, like the [inaudible] bone and the humerus bone, transposing the mind into a funny bone sensation. That is until the brain is dead, and like a spirit, my mind of thoughts just won’t stick inside my head.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.
