FROM MY MIND TO HERE (THE WHOLE TRIP)
Halfway From the Ground: A Series in Reverse
© John F. Sendelbach · 2026
TRACKLIST
00:00 Finding My Mind
06:00 In Under My Head
11:33 The Rug That Stays
16:28 Looking for George
21:44 My Balls
26:28 The Good Sheet
31:21 Roots Get the Cookie
35:50 The Neck Is Melting
42:55 I Can Smell the Stars
47:57 Take the Rainbow Back
54:28 Paper or Plastic
59:36 From My Mind to Here (The Whole Trip)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPYj_ZmZzJ4
THE FLO STATE bonus track for finding my mind JFS 2026
The Reverse Process
Every one of these songs is about going the wrong direction and arriving anyway. Finding where you'd expect losing. Under where you'd expect over. The rainbow run backward. The roots, not the crown. Paper turning out to mean the old real thing and plastic the ghost. So it would be a cheat to build the story the usual way — truth first, songs last — because the album's whole operating system says the usual way is the flying carpet: frictionless, forward, and false. We earn it the album's own way. We start at the finished thing — the songs, already sung — and we climb down into them until we hit the truth they grew from. The way up is down. That's the record.
The Story
Her name is Wren, which is a small brown bird that lives close to the dirt and almost never flies higher than a fence, and she is standing in the checkout line of an ordinary grocery store with a guitar case leaning against her hip, because she'd meant to sell it and hadn't, because you never do. The clerk looks up and asks a question — paper or plastic, a question about bags — and what Wren hears is the other question, the big one, about what she's paying with and what any of it is made of and whether she's held together with something that grew or something that was poured. She opens her mouth to answer and the floor of the ordinary gives way under her like wet paper, and she goes down.
She is finding her mind, or she is losing her mind, and she genuinely cannot tell which — the vertigo of it, the way a good idea and a breakdown feel identical from the inside. Everybody warned her about the water rising, about the day it takes your chin and then it takes the sky. And here is her first real decision, the one the whole record hangs on: she does not go over. She goes under. Down far enough is up. She's halfway from the ground now — not falling toward it, falling away from it, suspended — and it isn't terror, it's the loudest quiet she ever tasted.
On the way down she passes the carpet — beautiful, hovering, offering to lift her clean out of all this. This is the temptation of every descent: transcendence, the exit that skips the trip. And Wren looks at the magic carpet and pities it a little, because it goes everywhere and is therefore never anywhere, never learns a single footstep, never remembers anyone. The rug stays. The rug knew her name. She keeps descending on her own two feet. Then she needs a guide, because nobody gets down the low road alone, and on the low road you have to find George — everyone's looking for George — a she the whole town calls a sir, the keeper of the threshold, both and neither, and you cannot pass into the deep country until you've learned to hold two names for one true thing without getting the grammar right.
The deep country doesn't open for the polite. There's a gate, and the gate wants nerve — the guts to keep going down when everything says climb. And when the day goes sideways she finds one more thing to keep her steady: the good clean sheet she pulls up around herself when the world hands her the cheap kind. Through the gate. And below the gate: the roots — the engine room, where the roots do every ounce of the real work while the crown gets all the applause. Down here she meets the appetite of the deep, a blue and hungry thing that does not wait, does not climb politely, simply grabs. It teaches her the commandment of the underground: don't wait for the sweet thing to drop. The crown can keep the credit, but the roots take the bite. She who was raised to wait her turn learns to grab.
Then the bottom drops out of the bottom. She still has the guitar — you always carry the instrument into the underworld — and now the neck is melting, the frets soft as candle wax, every note in color, and she cannot tell whether she is playing it or it is playing her. Deeper, the air goes out, and in the vacuum with nothing to sense with, she senses everything at once, wrong: she can smell the stars, hear the light, taste the silence. There's no air to carry any of it, so it can't be — but it is. And deeper still she spins the color wheel too far and the rainbow un-happens, folds home to white and past white to a color with no name yet; the shapes come, nesting forever, each one full of smaller perfect copies of itself, and she turns one inside out and finds the same shape again, smaller, hungry for one more. There is no floor. The bottom is the top. This is the true bottom of the descent: that there is no bottom.
A person could stay there. But Wren went under on purpose, and so she knows the room is a turning point, not a trap. From very far up, or very far down, she hears the clerk again — paper or plastic — and now she's back at the threshold she fell through, and the question is finally answerable. Natural or the fake. The grown or the designed. She almost picks paper for the easy noble reason, until the deepest thing she learned turns it inside out one last time: the oil was a forest once, so maybe it's all paper, maybe plastic is just paper that gave up. There is no clean line between natural and artificial, only time — and the choice isn't between two substances but two ways of being: the thing that stays soft enough to rot and return, or the thing that goes hard and glossy and never comes back. She chooses the living. I'll be paper till I've died.
And she comes up. Not on a carpet — on the low road, on foot, carrying all of it, from her mind to here. She's back in the ordinary checkout line and it is exactly the same and not the same at all, because she went so far past the deep end that she came back around, and now she knows the secret the surface people are still treading water above: the way up was down the whole time. She found her mind by being willing to lose it. She's standing on the ground again, and she'll tell you, grinning, that she's still halfway from it.
The Operating System
Strip the fable off and here's the machine underneath. You do not ascend to the real; you descend to it. The flying carpet is a lie because frictionlessness is a lie — anything that costs nothing and goes everywhere is nowhere. The rug is true because it stays, holds a print, and can be worn out, and only things that can be worn out were ever real. The roots do the work and the crown takes the credit, so if you want to be real you go where the work is, which is down, unapplauded. You have to grab your own sweet thing; nobody hands the cookie to the polite. And at the very bottom, natural and artificial turn out to be the same substance separated only by time, so the only choice that matters is whether you'll stay soft enough to return to the dirt. Stay paper. Stay grounded. And the mind you were so afraid of losing turns out to be the exact thing you can only find by being brave enough to lose it — because a mind held too tight is just another glossy permanent thing that never grows.
The Songbook
1. Finding My Mind
I went out wandering — or wondering, I couldn't tell you which
got a screw come loose, or a truth come loose, and I can't find the switch
been mining for a meaning in a mind that might be mine
and I hit a vein of something bright — but I couldn't read the sign
some will give a penny for it, some will give a piece of theirs
I've got half a mind to lose the half that's climbing up the stairs
never mind the never-minding — I'm of two, and neither's kind
one says right, and one says write it down before the thing gets signed
am I finding my mind, or losing my mind?
did I lose it — or unloose it — is it mine, or was it mined?
can't tell the finding from the falling anymore
so I dig a little deeper down the shaft I can't ignore
oh — am I finding my mind… or losing my mind?
(he) they say make up your mind — like a bed I'll lie in soon
(she) but I lie, and then I lay there, wide awake beneath the moon
(he) is it madness, is it method? is the reel the real, or fake?
(she) lost my marbles down the drain — and found them in the wake
am I finding my mind, or losing my mind?
did I lose it — or unloose it — is it mine, or was it mined?
there's a whole in my head, or a hole, I can't be sure
it's no until I know it — then I want a little more
oh — am I finding my mind… or losing my mind?
(she) out of my mind — but out into the open, wide
(he) maybe losing's just a door that only opens from inside
(both, rising) I'm not in my right mind — no — I'm writing a new design
and I mine it, and it's mine now, and I think I'll turn out fine
(fine — or fined)
am I finding my mind, or losing my mind?
gonna lose it, gonna use it, leave the losing all behind —
can't tell the finding from the flying anymore
so I'll ride it like I stole it out the door I couldn't lock before
oh — am I finding my mind… or losing my mind?
(finding — losing — finding — losing —)
(mine, all mine, and I mined it from the dark —)
(never mind, never mind, I'll never mind again —)
(finding my mind… finding my mind…)
2. In Under My Head
everybody warned me 'bout the water getting high
'bout the day it takes your chin, and then it takes the sky
but I didn't go over — no, I went the other way
found a door beneath the drowning, and I let it pull me down to stay
I was halfway from the ground and I was falling toward the blue
not the fall you fall from grace with — more the kind you're falling to
and I never hit a bottom, 'cause a bottom's just a lie
I'm halfway from the ground, my love, and the ground is in the sky
and it's quiet here, it's quiet here
below the part of me that keeps the fear —
I'm in under my head — and it doesn't make a sound
went so far past the deep end that I came back around
they're all up there treading, holding breath they dread —
me, I stopped, and I dropped, and I'm in under my head
way down under my head
(he) they keep score up at the surface where the daylight's keeping time
(she) but the clocks don't run down under, and the reason's not a crime
(he) I'm halfway from the ground and I'm not coming up for air
(she) 'cause the up got turned to under, and the under's everywhere
I'm in under my head — and it doesn't make a sound
went so far past the deep end that I came back around
they're all up there reaching for a rope they think is red —
me, I stopped, and I dropped, and I'm in under my head
way down under my head
(she) halfway from the ground, and I stopped asking where
(he) up is just a rumor that they whisper up there
(both, rising) I'm not in over — no — I'm in under instead
and the water turned to sky above the floor above my head
I'm in under my head — and it's ringing like a bell
halfway from the ground and I have never felt so well
went so far past the losing that the losing's what I fed —
so I stopped, and I dropped, and I'm in under my head
way down under my head
(under — under — halfway from the ground —)
(so far past the deep end that I came back around —)
(quiet here, quiet here, nothing left to dread —)
(way down… under my head…)
3. The Rug That Stays
you can roll out all your magic, let it lug you off the floor
take the minarets, the moonlight, take the never-been-before
give the carpet one good tug and watch it shrug and climb the blue —
me, I'm snug down on the floorboards where the lamplight's keeping true
you unplug from every somewhere, and you plug into the sky
I've got coffee in a mug gone cold from watching you go by
you're a bug against the sunset, you're a thread I can't quite hug —
and the carpet's got the heavens, love, but I have got the rug
so chug your magic, drug-drunk on the height —
I'll be dug in where the floor holds tight —
you keep the flying carpet — I'll keep the rug that stays
the one that never once took off in all my grounded days
you get the whole horizon, every somewhere far and snug —
I'll be here where the floor remembers, on the rug, the rug, the rug
(he) that carpet never leaves a track — it never has to dig
(she) it can lug you round the whole wide world and never once feel big
(he) but a rug learns every footstep, every slow and grounded slug
(she) so go and chase the smug blue yonder — I'll be waiting on the rug
you keep the flying carpet — I'll keep the rug that stays
the one that never once took off in all my grounded days
you plug into forever, but forever won't stay snug —
so I'll be here where the floor remembers, on the rug, the rug, the rug
(she) you can chug the whole horizon, you can drug up on the view
(he) but a hug needs someone standing still — and standing still is true
(both, rising) so shrug off all your flying, come and dig in where it's snug —
lay your weary magic carpet down… and love me on the rug
you had the flying carpet — now you're kneeling on the rug
you traded all your somewheres for a mug, a floor, a hug
the sky could never keep you, but the floorboards fit you snug —
so stay here where the floor remembers, on the rug, the rug, the rug
(rug, rug, the rug that stays —)
(unplug from the sky and dig in snug —)
(let the carpet go, give the floor a hug —)
(on the rug… on the rug… the rug that stays…)
4. Looking for George
been knockin' since I's a kid on the door where the good times forge
where the river of the afternoon runs slow and cuts a gorge
I said "is George around today?" — they said "George? she's hard to see"
'cause George is never THERE when you want her, but she's always THEIR to me
now George, she's a proper lady, though the fellas use the name
a girl dressed up as a mister, and we love her just the same
you don't want the boys, you want the lady — that's the secret of the garden, see
so we whisper "have you seen George?" down the low road by the sea
'cause THEY'RE all askin', but THEY'RE too loud —
and THERE she is, THEIR queen, above the crowd —
we're looking for George! (looking for George!) down where the good times forge
we're looking for George! (looking for George!) by the slow green river gorge
she's THERE, she's THEIR, she's THEY'RE — we mix it up, and that's the joke, of course —
you never spell it right, but you always find your way to George
(he) Georgie was the family dog, a girl the whole town called a sir
(she) so we learned it young — the truest her can wear a mister's fur
(he) and the lady of the garden's just the same old happy blur
(she) a boy's name on a girl we love — go on and ask for her
we're looking for George! (looking for George!) down where the good times forge
we're looking for George! (looking for George!) by the slow green river gorge
you spell it THERE, I spell it THEIR, and neither one is worse —
'cause you never get the grammar right, but you always land on George
(she) is George there? is George their? is George they're? — hush, don't shout
(he) she comes around the quiet way, or she don't come out
(both, rising) so keep it low and keep it kind and keep it just for us —
"you seen George?" — "yeah, she's around" — and there's no need to fuss
we're STILL looking for George! (looking for George!) where the old friends forge
we're STILL looking for George! (looking for George!) by the sweet green river gorge
she's THERE, she's THEIR, she's THEY'RE, and we been friends since we was four —
you never spell it right, but you always come home to George
(George! — is she there? — is she their? — is she they're? —)
(down where the good times forge —)
(by the slow green river gorge —)
(you seen George? — yeah… she's around…)
(looking for George… looking for George…)
5. My Balls
they said "you'll never make it, son, you ain't got what it takes"
but I stepped up to the plate that day and I owned all my mistakes
took a curveball on the chin and grinned and swung for the far walls —
'cause the only thing I came here with, my darling, was my balls
they told me "know your place, girl, keep it quiet, keep it small"
so I walked in balls to the wall and I had myself a ball
I don't drop it, I don't choke it, I stay on it when it calls —
you can keep your crystal future, honey, I'll be trusting in my balls
you gotta have 'em, gotta bring 'em, gotta show 'em when you fall —
so I lead with 'em, I bleed with 'em, I answer when they call —
it takes balls! (it takes balls!) to stand up straight and tall
it takes balls! (it takes balls!) to risk it, one and all
they'll knock you down and call you out and hope to watch you crawl —
but you get up, and you dust off, and you lead with your balls
(he) some folks play it safe forever, never step outside the hall
(she) they got a ball and chain around 'em and they never had a ball
(he) but the ones who chase the eight ball down the felt and take the sprawl —
(she) they're the ones still standing, baby, 'cause they came here with their balls
it takes balls! (it takes balls!) to catch it when they throw
it takes balls! (it takes balls!) to swing and let it go
you're on the ball, or you're off the wall, but you gave it your all —
so you get up, and you dust off, and you lead with your balls
(she) you can fumble it, you can drop it, you can watch it hit the floor
(he) but you pick that sucker up again and you come back for more
(both, rising) 'cause the game don't want the timid and the wall don't want the small —
you want a shot at glory, sugar? then you better bring your balls
it takes balls! (it takes balls!) to be exactly you
it takes balls! (it takes balls!) to see the whole thing through
they built the whole world hoping that you'd shrink and hit the wall —
so you stand up, and you strut off, and you lead with your balls
(it takes balls — it takes balls —)
(balls to the wall, and have yourself a ball —)
(don't you drop it, don't you choke it, stand up tall —)
(lead with your balls… lead with your balls…)
6. The Good Sheet
woke up this morning feeling like a million-dollar dream
pulled the good sheet up around me, everything's a-gleam
they can keep their tough luck, keep their same old sheet all week —
'cause I got the finest sheet in town, and baby, it's unique
some folks lose their sheet completely when the day goes wrong
I keep mine folded, keep mine cool, keep mine crisp and strong
you can give a sheet or not give a sheet — I give the finest kind —
so quit your bellyachin', honey, come get in the sheet you'll find
when it hits the fan and the day goes sideways small —
lay the good sheet down and we'll rise above it all —
it's the good sheet! (the good sheet!) the clean and the cool
it's the good sheet! (the good sheet!) don't play the fool
they hand you tough sheet, hard sheet, hope to watch you fall —
but we got the good sheet, baby, and it beats 'em all
(he) some are deep in it and drownin', never learned to swim the stuff
(she) some are sheet out of luck completely, never had it good enough
(he) but the ones who keep it holy, keep it clean and keep it neat —
(she) they're the ones still shinin', baby, sleepin' on the good sheet
it's the good sheet! (the good sheet!) no sheet, it's true
it's the good sheet! (the good sheet!) I'm tellin' you
same sheet, different day for the crowd out in the hall —
but we got the good sheet, baby, and it beats 'em all
(she) you can talk your sheet all evening, you can spread it good and wide
(he) but a clean sheet beats a loud one when you're layin' down inside
(both, rising) so when the whole world hands you garbage and you're backed against the wall —
grab the good sheet, pull it over, and we'll rise above it all
it's the good sheet! (the good sheet!) the real, the whole
it's the good sheet! (the good sheet!) it's good for the soul
they built the world on cheap sheet, hopin' you'd stay small —
but we got the good sheet, baby, and it beats 'em all
(the good sheet — the good sheet —)
(holy sheet, would you look at that —)
(no sheet, no sheet, it beats 'em all —)
(the good sheet… the good sheet…)
7. Roots Get the Cookie
everybody's looking up at the crown all dressed in green
clapping for the branches, for the prettiest thing they've seen
but way down in the dark where the dirty business grows
I'm the one that feeds the glory — I'm the part that nobody knows
the crown gets all the sunshine and the roots get all the mud
but the crown would be a dead thing if the roots don't push the blood
so applaud your shiny treetop, throw your roses at the leaves —
while I'm underneath here workin', baby, doing what the pretty part receives
so when the sweet stuff's ready and it's hangin' low —
I don't climb for it polite, no — watch me go —
'cause the roots get the cookie! (om nom nom!) the roots take it all
I don't wait for it to drop, sugar — I don't wait for it to fall
grab it! (grab it!) like a hungry blue thing in the night —
the crown can keep the credit, but the roots? we take the bite
(lead) the treetop learned to wait its turn, to be gentle and to share
(harmony) but I learned in the underground that the patient cupboard's bare
(lead) so I reach my greedy fingers up through every crack and seam —
(harmony) and I grab that cookie, honey, 'fore it's somebody else's dream
'cause the roots get the cookie! (om nom nom!) the roots get 'em first
you can be the polite one starving, or you can quench the deeper thirst
grab it! (grab it!) with a blue and hungry might —
the crown can keep the credit, but the roots? we take the bite
(lead) they raised you to be dainty, wait your turn and never grab
(harmony) but the cookie don't wait for manners, and the sweetest ones get had
(both, rising) so get low, get greedy, get your hands down in the deep —
'cause the cookie's for the takin' and the crown's asleep
'cause the roots get the cookie! (om nom nom!) the roots run the show
the flowers get the photograph, but the roots make the whole thing grow
grab it! (grab it!) pull it down into the light —
the crown can keep the credit, but the roots? we take the bite
(roots get the cookie — om nom nom —)
(don't wait for it to drop, just grab it in the dark —)
(crown gets the glory, roots get the bite —)
(om nom nom… roots get the cookie…)
8. The Neck Is Melting
I set my fingers on the strings and the strings began to breathe
and every note came out in color, wound around me like a wreath
the frets went soft as candle wax, the neck began to bend —
and I couldn't tell you where the song stopped and where I began, my friend
…are my hands playing the guitar… or is the guitar playing my hands…
…the low string is purple… the high one tastes like rain…
…I think I've been on this one chord for a hundred years… and it's beautiful…
the pick became a little boat and it sailed across the sound
and the reverb opened up a room with no floor and no ground
I bent a string and watched it ripple out across the air —
and the melody looked back at me and asked me if I'm there
and I don't know if I'm lost or if I'm found —
but the whole room's turning liquid, and I'm going down —
the neck is melting! (melting!) and the notes are turning gold
I'm playing it, or it's playing me — I can't tell who's in control
the strings are made of rivers and my fingers made of light —
oh, the neck is melting, honey, and I'm gonna play all night
(lead) I closed my eyes and the fretboard grew a thousand shining doors
(harmony) and every one I opened up had oceans on the floors
(lead) I chased a note down every hall and it never touched the ground —
(harmony) so I stopped trying to catch it, love, and I let it turn me round
the neck is melting! (melting!) and the sound has grown a spine
it's wrapping all around me now and it's telling me it's mine
the amp is humming secrets in a color I can't write —
oh, the neck is melting, honey, and I'm gonna play all night
…I put the guitar down an hour ago… and it's still playing…
…or I never picked it up… I can't remember which…
…there's a string running from my chest to the ceiling… and when I breathe… it rings…
…okay… okay… here it comes again… don't be scared of the pretty part…
the neck is melting! (melting!) and the whole world's turned to sound
I'm a river made of music and there's no more up or down
I'm playing it, it's playing me, and we're both made of light —
oh, the neck is melting, honey, and we'll play all night
(the neck is melting… the neck is melting…)
(playing me, playing me, and I don't mind…)
(notes turning gold, strings turning to light…)
(play all night… play all night…)
9. I Can Smell the Stars
I'm floating in the vacuum where there's nothing much to hear
so I turned the volume way up loud and the silence hit my ear
I heard a color, saw a smell, and I tasted middle C —
there's absolutely nothing here, and it's LOUD as it can be
…mmm, do you smell that?… no, of course you don't, there's no air…
…but it smells purple out here… it smells like the number four…
…shh, listen — (nothing) — isn't that the prettiest thing you never heard…
I reached out to touch a star and it was freezing cold and hot
I looked away to see it better, saw it clearer when I'm not
the darkness is so blinding that I closed my eyes to see —
and everything is silent, so it's screaming right at me
and up is down and loud is bright and sweet is blue —
and none of it is real, and every word is true —
I can smell the stars! (smell the stars!) I can hear the light!
I can taste the empty nothing and it's out of sight, all right!
there's no air to carry any of it, so it can't be — but it is —
oh, I can smell the stars, my darling, in the great big silent fizz!
(lead) I ate a scoop of starlight and it tasted like a sound
(harmony) I dropped it and it floated up instead of falling down
(lead) I whispered to a comet and it answered me in green —
(harmony) it's the fullest kind of empty that I've ever never seen
I can smell the stars! (smell the stars!) I can touch the tune!
I can hear the color coming off the belly of the moon!
it's completely, totally impossible, and honestly, that's fine —
oh, I can smell the stars, my darling, and they smell like auld lang syne!
…okay, okay, hold still… I'm gonna try to hear the sunrise…
…(there's no sound in space)… I KNOW… that's how I can hear it so well…
…it's deafening… it's the loudest quiet I ever tasted…
…oh no… I think I dropped my sense of smell somewhere near Jupiter…
…nope — found it — it was hiding in the note I just saw…
I can smell the stars! (smell the stars!) I can see the hush!
the emptiest place in the universe and it's every color, plush!
nothing here to feel it with, so I feel it all at once —
oh, I can smell the stars, my darling, in the great big silent bounce!
(smell the stars… hear the light…)
(up is down and loud is bright…)
(taste the nothing, touch the tune…)
(smell the stars… smell the stars…)
…told you it smelled purple…
10. Take the Rainbow Back
I spun the color wheel too far and it started running back
red fell into nothing, and the nothing folded black
violet climbed to indigo, and indigo to blue —
and the whole rainbow un-happened, and I watched it come untrue
…if you spin it backwards far enough… all the colors come home…
…and home is white… and white is every color holding still…
…and if you spin it once more… there's a color underneath the white… and it doesn't have a name yet…
a cube unfolded slowly and became a shape with more
a twelve-faced thing, a twenty, and a shape I'd never seen before
each one was full of smaller ones, each perfect, each the same —
the solids nesting solids in a spinning, silent game
and it turns inside — and the inside's the same —
just smaller, and it's spinning, and it's calling out my name —
take the rainbow back! (take it back!) unwind it to the white —
fold the solid through its center and it opens into light!
there's a shape inside the shape inside the shape, and down we go —
oh, take the rainbow back, my darling, all the way to the O
(lead) I turned a shape completely inside out to see the core
(harmony) and the core was just the shape again, but hungry for one more
(lead) I chased it down through every face, through every edge and seam —
(harmony) and the bottom was the top again — I'm spinning in the dream
take the rainbow back! (take it back!) reverse it through the prism —
every color's got a color underneath, a hidden schism!
there's a solid in the solid, and it never hits a floor —
oh, take the rainbow back, my darling, and it opens up one more
…okay… I turned the cube inside out and found another cube…
…so I turned THAT one inside out… and found the first one again… smaller… or bigger… I can't tell which way is in…
…the rainbow's running backwards and forwards at the same time now…
…every color is the door to the next color and there is no last color…
…and it's not scary… it's the most beautiful nothing… going on forever…
take the rainbow back! (take it back!) there's no beginning color!
fold the shape through its own middle and it only makes another!
up's the same as down in here, and less is always more —
oh, take the rainbow back, my darling, through the door inside the door
(take the rainbow back… take the rainbow back…)
(shape inside the shape, and down we go…)
(no first color, no last color, no floor…)
(through the door inside the door…)
…one more…
11. Paper or Plastic
So I'm standing at the checkout, and the light's that buzzing kind,
and the person at the register looks up and reads my mind,
and she says one little question that undid my whole afternoon —
she says: "paper… or plastic?"
and I froze up like the moon
'Cause I thought she meant my money — was it paper, was it plastic —
was it cash out of the cotton, or the card that's made of static?
one is trees and one is oil, one is real and one's a ghost,
one you hold… and one just haunts you…
which one hurts the most?
'cause paper grows and plastic's poured —
one comes from the ground, one from a corporate board —
paper or plastic? (paper or plastic?) natural or the fake?
one of 'em was living once, and one of 'em's a mistake!
one'll rot back into the dirt, and one'll never leave —
oh, paper or plastic, honey — which one do you believe?
So I say "paper," 'cause I'm noble, 'cause I love the honest tree,
then I hand her out a credit card — well, that's plastic, that's not me —
so I'm paper in my morals but I'm plastic in my hand,
saving forests…
…swiping oil…
and I finally understand —
paper or plastic? (paper or plastic?) the grown or the designed?
one came out of the sunlight, and one came out of the grind!
one remembers being living, and one never even tried —
oh, paper or plastic, honey — pick the one you'll be inside
…here's the thing nobody tells you at the checkout…
…everything real came out of something living…
…and everything fake came out of something that was living a long, long time ago…
…the oil… was a forest… once…
…so maybe it's ALL paper…
…maybe plastic is just paper that gave up…
…"ma'am? …ma'am, the line…"
paper or plastic? (paper or plastic?) I'll take the one that grows!
the one that came from something breathing, not the kind that only glows!
give me cotton over credit, give me tree over the tide —
oh, paper or plastic, honey — I'll be paper till I've died
(paper or plastic… paper or plastic…)
(natural or the fake, the grown or the designed…)
(the oil was a forest once…)
(paper till I've died… paper till I've died…)
…you know what, I'll just carry it
12. From My Mind to Here (The Whole Trip)
it started in my mind, or somewhere my mind used to be,
was I finding it or losing it? I honestly couldn't see —
so I went in under my head where the deep end comes back round,
and I stopped, and I dropped, and I found the quiet ground
am I finding my mind, or losing my mind?
halfway from the ground with the whole sky left behind —
went so far past the deep end that I came back new —
oh, from my mind to here, my darling, and the ground's the sky it's true
you can keep your flying carpet, all your somewheres in the blue,
I'll be snug down on the rug that stays, the floor that fits me true —
'cause the ones who chase forever never learn to land and stay,
give me the good sheet, give me the ground — I'll rise above the fray
now it takes some nerve to stand up straight when the whole world wants you small,
so I lead with everything I've got and I never drop the ball —
and the roots down in the dirt don't wait for glory to come loose —
they just grab it —
om nom nom — the roots, they take the juice!
it takes balls, it takes roots, it takes the good clean sheet,
to grab your own sweet cookie 'stead of waiting to get beat —
the crown can keep the credit, but the deep down does the work —
oh, from my mind to here, my darling, and I'm grinning like a jerk
…and somewhere in the low green way… we were only ever looking for a friend…
…is she there? …is she their? …is she they're? …
…we never spelled it right… but we always found our way…
…and the lady of the garden… she was always she…
then the neck began to melting and the notes turned into gold,
I was playing it or it played me — I couldn't tell who's in control,
and I could smell the stars, I swear, I could hear the silent light,
in the great big humming nothing where the empty burns so bright
…and I spun the color wheel too far… and the rainbow came untrue…
…and every shape had a smaller shape inside it… going down and up at once…
…there's a door inside the door inside the door… and none of it is real… and every word is true…
so I'm standing at the checkout of the universe, confused,
did they say my mind or money? paper, plastic? win or lose?
and I chose the one that grows —
the living over the designed —
'cause everything fake was real once, and I'll take it, and I'll be kind
from my mind to here! (my mind to here!) I carried the whole load —
the rug, the roots, the cookie, and the friend down the low road —
the melting neck, the smelling stars, the rainbow spinning back —
oh, from my mind to here, my darling, and I never lost the track
(finding my mind… in under my head…)
(the rug that stays… looking for George…)
(it takes balls, the good sheet, the roots get the cookie…)
(the neck is melting… smell the stars… take the rainbow back…)
(paper or plastic… from my mind to here…)
…from my mind… to here…
Still halfway from the ground. Still grabbing the cookie.
© 2026 John F. Sendelbach