Subconscious Gods

Summary

"Subconscious Gods" is a reflective poem exploring the mysterious interplay between thoughts and reality, suggesting a solipsistic world where one's internal musings manifest in the external world.

Abstract

The poem "Subconscious Gods" delves into the phenomenon of thoughts seemingly shaping reality, as illustrated by the author's encounter with an old crush shortly after thinking of her. It compares this occurrence to a song stuck in one's head, symbolizing the persistence of certain thoughts or feelings. The poem touches on the solitude of mental health struggles, the discomfort of feeling observed, and the eerie familiarity of déjà vu, likening these experiences to environmental and sensory phenomena. It concludes with vivid, intimate observations of a person, implying that the mind's eye can conjure and replay moments with intense clarity, blurring the lines between memory, thought, and actuality.

Opinions

The author believes in the power of the subconscious mind to influence or even predict real-world events.
There is a sense of wonder and perhaps a touch of superstition in the way the author perceives the connection between thoughts and coinciding occurrences.
The poem suggests a solipsistic viewpoint, where the external world is a direct reflection or extension of the author's inner thoughts and feelings.
The author seems to grapple with the idea that one's internal state can have a tangible impact on the environment and people around them.
A sense of isolation is conveyed, as the author's deep introspection sets them apart from the outside world, emphasizing the subjective nature of experience.

A poem about solipsism

It happened again… I was thinking of someone I hadn’t seen in years, cupping an old crush in my palm like an injured bird, singing to soothe her oil-drop eyes, and ten minutes later there she was, graceful and gorgeous as a six-foot starling, standing in the Walgreens aisle amid air fresheners and Windex, pulled perfect from the pages of my high school yearbook with a clandestine desire to buy vanilla-scented wax.

Like that Alice in Chains song “Would,” stuck in your head for an hour and a half, its catchy bass hook stumbling on repeat through the hospital halls of your brain, a drunk gorilla in a lab coat rattling its stethoscope against the walls, then pounding it through your stereo speakers soon as you crank the ignition.

The solipsism of seasonal depression calls the rain, the gray slate of stratus clouds and chill from some distant dismal ether like breath on cold glass you write your name into.

That sudden burning laser you are being watched, as if the sun swelled, its ultraviolet rays working their quiet violence on the nape of your neck, glancing back to see a stranger avert their gaze into their coffee cup across the street.

The déjà vu of relived dreams, every detail a buzzing fluorescent flickering beyond the fog of your memory, a rerun on an old television set with black and white static watched from underneath the bed, obscure nuances —

she holds her fork with three fingers, glossy purple nail polish and light like a mirror ball cast through candled glass, how she laughs at something you can’t see over your shoulder, then fading into ghost tongues probing the base of your spine, a goose stepping over a soil mound, dark, damp, and fresh.