Not quite, how about scrambled mind. But “barren,” she says.
Ingrid Rojas Contreras looks through “the barren island of [her] mind” and finds that “all good science fiction begins this way”: from the new edition of the Los Angeles Review of Books Quarterly Journal.
Something else in pursuit of her goal:
I stand in front of the window at Madison and Halsted hesitating before my reflection, weighing the awfulness of not knowing myself versus the lightness of being a blank slate.
I try to break into the fortress of my mind by staring into my iris.
Good luck with it.
It occurs to me I could be an illegal immigrant. I have to avoid the authorities. I search up and down the street for cops.
I could be one of the millions undocumented, working for low wages, desperate, prone to predation.Prone to predation? I ask myself.
Even then this strikes me as an odd sentence construction.
She may be on to something. Is there something about in the fortress of your mind?