Stains Upon Black

There is a place without words leaking from every last crevice. There is a place where humanity is in confessed ruins. Nothing but a bridge of another time, with toppled trees obscuring and broken glass enshrouding. Water flows but I cannot see it. The moon not yet birthed from the mountain's silhouetted bosom. Only hints of its womblike glow spilling over with subtle shade shifting. I sit and soak in the water. Not the water itself, but what it resonates. The manifestation of my mind through sound. The movement of liquid of endless depth, slippery, silky depth. Crickets of many varieties out in the open yet bathed in shadow, sounding their fiddling of romance and bug lust. Love is lust with spirits entwined above the soil of fucking. Alone, with these ruins and these vibrations and these procreating insects, oblivion pushes hard against my body. I feel it's sweat. The temperature, absolute zero yet boiling against my brow. A brow scarred by solitude. Though my words sound like the distant sirens of the humanity that will not leave me be, this only occurs in my mind. No phrases and quotes to serenade the air with hypnotizing, multimedia diarrhea. A sip or two from my bottle of water and then returning these sips to the river. The trees are black, completely black. So black, all colors are fabricated by my eye fluids. The lambent moon glow covers like a fallen silk garb of glistening twilight dew small patches of the soil. I am turned away from this light and peer into the dark. More details discovered but overall obscured. My instinct wary, every last falling of every last twig is shrewdly collected by my scatterbrained brain. This river just to my right, running below the bridge, sticks out, like a tongue, from the darkness ahead. So high up into the sky this river runs. The veins of these mountains, these excessive tangents of microscopic proportions within our solar system, run high and all around. Trees, some burned to death, protrude from the sides of these veins. Conclusions to the trains of thought erupting from the soil like volcanic eruptions in another era, withering, twigs falling, assessed and forgotten. Dead. Dead. Dead like my words. Reaching for the stars but getting caught in the void, drifting among the supernovas without a pulse to seek orgasms inside of them. Clothed, wishing to be naked, I gaze into this mouth of darkness. Will a predator rip me to shreds? Would that be the worst of things? If the night swallowed me, the bag of guts with fantasies to massage, would the sun illuminate a river of blood. Finally, through this, would the sun illuminate the workings inside of me. I have memories I die to share, if I die, my blood shall be shared. The only thing inside of me is my blood. So swallow me nature. Swallow me shadows. Cleanse yourself of the stain.

But I want to live. I want to live and I want to reach the stars. You, the reader, are the stars in which I speak. Floating in void, illuminating with explosive gas belching desire, you catch in your sight my lifeless words drifting like worms in open water. Among the crickets and toads in my place of solitude, I gaze at La Crescenta. Like the fish of the abyss, the darkness of space glows with blinking lights, alluring the needy and licking their crotches. From this puddle of glowing tadpoles, hiding in shells of machinery, there is a copper glow. This glow reaches high, but not high enough. The stars are too far away. Our extended grasp is in vain. I await the day all the lights go out. I await the panic that ensues from the knowledge that they shall never be on again. What a symphony that will be. One last symphony, and then silence.

So i'll settle for this. Within this glow, love everything you can get your hands on. This is a note to myself.

Paralysis. Screams Behind The Shell.

My body lapses into inertia. Absolute inertia has a feeling. It is my least favorite feeling. Your innards turn to bugs and all hide in pouches of skin as shivery, electric goose bumps. The gravity is absurd. My flesh becomes a lifeless shell, occasionally one of my hands is in sight, completely still and dead. Bones motionless yet the soul inside screaming and pouncing like a caged carnivore. expression dumbfounded and lazy, yet behind the flesh are fists pounding against bloody walls. Eyes open, wide open, the nightmares unfurl before me. I am helpless. I am forced to face them. The show begins immediately.

Men and women of different variety emerge through the doors and through the windows. Arising into my vision from the floor. Their mortal terror is impossible to describe. They appear as persona thick silhouette. Faces seen through the darkness, crazed, straight from a fever dream. The bed shakes and giggles and belches. It sucks me into it's void and I float in bloodlit caverns with stalagmites steaming quickly with hot breaths. My body has been eaten by ravaged dogs before. My flesh has been groped and ripped apart. All in these caverns that merge with my room, now melted and screaming for help, guts pouring from the walls.

Sometimes I see similar things while wide awake and with a body that moves. Sometimes it is in public.

i won't go into more detail. I'm writing a book that'll tell all about it, after all. I write this just because it happens and the gravity of it weighs down harder than any of you can really imagine yet. I feel like a shell sometimes. I feel like a screaming soul in a lifeless vessel. I feel paralyzed in motion, for I feel alone in motion, for the soul is not freed and articulated. My paralysis is a thick amplification and meditation of this. Each session is another stroke of the paddles, as I take my leaking canoe further from the shore, into waters. With absolute freedom, I shatter my shell and melt out. Embrace who I am, for it screams to flow.

There is still so much distance.  Behind the shell is fluid. It wants to mingle in life. The walls of the domicile are suffocating sometimes. There is hope brewing. Very potent and euphoric hope. yet sometimes I worry that i may become too dependent of its source. To be honest, my situation there is driving me crazy in some ways. I want to be as close to people as I can. Words don't do it.

I want to be as transient as the wind.

Limbo Eyes

In the silent place, where the crickets have no love, only heartbeats that ricochet off of inanimate walls. Prisons for insects in the great dark. Fragmented and separated are the cages. Thousands of miles apart. The airports do not groan. The cemeteries do not shiver. There is no sound in the silent place. This all lies against non-reflective black terrain. Ahead of coffin veiled eyes, there is no sun to glister their black pupils, so dusty. Against this world, of worlds not yet illumined, Villas of eventuality float without existence like mercurial cylinders with the void heavens inside. 

Without much ado, the soil rich horizon is bathed in particle light and time. The coffins pop as bubbles pop and the rays find the black pupils. The darkness glows with light. Different shades of shadow in the black dot, shrinking against the bitter light like linguistic aperture. The sunlight massages your ears with the sounds of the crickets seen ahead, liberated and sounding their love fiddles. These ears and pupils are separated in the space time continuum. their merging process begins. 

Spilling from all sides of this sun-soaked pupil are deserts and dunes. So concentrated is their shade of orange, like the sands of venus and more potent still. Glowing with orange, yet restrained and cool in temperature. A color most cosmic and illusive in mother nature.

Water is born for the very first time. The deserts flood all around with deep aquamarine water. Glowing thick with murky flawless green, like the surface of Uranus and more potent still. Very cool in temperature, freezing, shivery, smoldering. Sizzle spice zest pow. Ghostly is it's aura. Now, the desert is but a sandy beach. The waves of this aqua ripple subtly and with a little pep from my imagination. Deeper do the waters of this ghostly sea of beautiful bliss go. Darker does it's shade appear from up on high, where the sun floats watching and exploding in place. Darker and deeper goes the water until the pitch black is thick and absolute. This is where the bottom feeders feed. The magnificent, magnificent bottom feeders. Slimy and aroused by shadow. They peak their eyes from behind moldy rocks of black and smile with teeth most jagged. The beauty is unreal.

Exploding from this darkness in all directions pointing away from your shrunken pupil is a sky made of milk. Glistening, glossy, spanning light-years and light-years across, the shine and gleam and divine sheen absolutely thrilling. This milk of sky enshrouds a sphere of matter and in it sits trails of deep red smoke from the tear duct tavern door. Like lightening strikes of blood! Other clouds of red, so faint and slight, here and there occasionally. Otherwise, polished is this sky of milk. All nested in delicate flesh. Cliffs of pink that end in lashes, like brown flames stationary in moving time. Blinks every now and again. Through the flesh that surrounds, which glitters so with galaxies of stars and blushing, the ears and eyes are merged. 

The temple expands to beautiful peacock landscape, soft with eroding goose-bump flesh, bright under the sun. Mountains of crystals and diamonds with clouds of all colors obscure the land like fog, so dreamlike and melting with rainbows. all of this and divinity, yet the sun is locked on the limbo eyes. 

There are unseen sights. A soul speaks through the invisible, resonating shivers spewing from these spheres of vision. A history. A voice that wishes to flow as liquid saying "I have seen agony. I have seen ecstasy. I have seen, and I have this to share. This is all I can ever hope to give away, so I shall give away it all forever, because I can. I have felt the cold. I work to befriend the cold. Others cannot help to shrivel under the frost's mantle of strength. I hereby sacrifice my warmth. Amen" 

At the sight of this, the sun, the anonymous star in the macrocosm of countless, envisions something. The pupil appears as a volcano protruding from the ghostly sea. It floats with constant restless motion in the very middle of the venus beach. It erupts with a beam of heavenly light. Straight ahead it fires. I, the star, am exploded. 

I bow to your limbo eyes. Now I have warmth to sacrifice as well. Oh and again I say you have the most beautiful smile. It's almost maddening sometimes, my love for you. I refuse to filter my opinions on the matter, so I explosively desire writing about you. You're the most awe inspiring explosion of all. 

Whispers

These past couple of nights have been the longest of my life. Such restlessness. Such fear. Such slow pace. Such isolation.

My mind has obscured me. I exist in dormancy. Exiled by my mind's treachery to an island far beyond the horizon. Messages in bottles crudely written in my blood and passion bob about restlessly in the waves. They do not stray far enough. They vanish into nihil. Nothing comes from this island. I lie on the sand. The tide comes closer and closer. My toes blister more and more through time. I look up into the sky and see clouds fly.

I had a dream once. I dreamt I was a cloud floating above a spectrum sea. All possible colors rippled and whirlpooled in these waters. Restless vessels struggled to stay afloat, to no avail. Within me was a peacock. She was beautiful. We both mingled as gas for an eternity. Time was lost and I felt present in this forever. Lucid too. I was perfectly aware that this was a dream. I knew very vividly that this peacock was nothing more than an apparition of my sleeping mind. Despite this, I let my mind embrace this intimacy as if it were really so. We kissed, danced, and whispered in infinity for infinity. I felt what it was like to be genuinely close. Then I woke up.

Here I lie, on my island. The clouds leave monstrous shadows on the infant waves. The sandcrabs descend to greater shadow. I look up at these clouds. Though my ears fail to comprehend this, I know that whispers dance within these clouds. Much too high are these clouds. The softly spoken intimacy does not transmit to me. I'm much too low.

In searching for these whispers in the past, I have found nothing but the great masquerade. Veils of intricate design hiding the tears and the screams. The eyes tell a story of desperation, and the words are emitted like the keys played by a pianist who feels nothing at all. The skin of humanity is not worn. We hide behind personalities, fabrications. We are clothed. We are the clothed beings. Our naked selves hide in panic, for taboo has scared them away. Refuge is taken in the mist of conformity and familiarity.

During this masquerade though, some sneak away giggling. Some remove the masks and the fabrications. Some turn to gas among one another and seep through the veils. Among the clouds, as the clouds, they whisper, not shout. There have been times, short bursts, where I look down and see my fingers steaming and dissolving into the sky. There have been times, short bursts, where this steam quickly mingled with the steam of another. Masks aside, personalities aside, a subtle little dance. This is fleeting. This doesn't fully satisfy my steam self. Perhaps my dreams have made my standards too high. This is just one of the many ways in which they've estranged me.

I had a nightmare once. This was more recently then that dream. That dream was years ago. This nightmare was days ago. I dreamt I was killed, yet my soul still lived inside of me. My body was hollow. Nothing in it but stacks of restless boxes. I wandered this warehouse for an eternity, every few moments I was ridiculed and attacked by people I knew abruptly erupting from these boxes. When it grew to be too much, I awoke into sleep paralysis. There was no escape. There was no compromise. This lasted forever. Forever. Forever. In this time, I sailed away. Thousands, millions, billions, trillions of miles away from anybody. Everybody. Then I woke up on this island.

I want nothing more than to sail back. I want nothing more than to be the drunkard at the great masquerade. Making a fool of himself and not knowing it. Occasionally and casually taken by the hand and turned into a cloud. I never want to be a full solid ever again. My dreams have made this something I cannot abide by not having. I think it is finally ripping me to shreds. It is killing me. Killing me. I feel absolutely nothing at all. Nothing. This post mitigates nothing.

This has been heavily concentrated since the very dawn of 2011. It was at the beach when I first decided that my centralized goal was to turn to steam and dance with another. Splashing in the waves, I felt intimate with my fears. In my heart ignited a smoldering ember. I wanted this with mankind too. Seldom have I had this. The ember burns me. My pain reflex, as if flicking a finger away from the flame, has been going on for months on end. The pain reflex is the pursuit of this closeness, which is in vain. Two reasons, the powers that be make it impossible because of this reason or that reason, and because my brain has forced me into a state of isolation. Deep, dark isolation. I can't stand it anymore. I just can't. All of my creations this year feel empty to me now, because my pursuit is too absolute and full of itself. Really, for a fellow aiming to achieve selflessness, I'm pretty fucking selfish.

I've given up. I'm too far away. One can only shout so long. If I can't be close to others, I will instead learn to bask in my distance through embracing this heartache. It'll be there either way so I have no choice.  My mind has insisted upon this being my abode. My dreams are winning. I will learn to bask in this if it means losing every drop of blood I have. I have no choice... and I have a feeling it isn't going to work.

There is so much more I want to say. There are things said here that I want to say differently. Because of the culture I live in, I have to be vague about certain things. I need to sugar coat my sentences. I can't be direct. I certainly know how much this culture loves coats of sugar. I'll try to sum it all up like this...

I had a dream once. I was close. I was intimate. I was steam. Then I woke up.

The Electric Line

I fall. I fly. All within the electric line. Between houses. Here and there. Pipes, chimes, electric chimes. Frankly, there was nothing. There is nothing. Emptiness, without you. The bone men play the bone horns. They sound death. Death, falling off the ledge of grass. Cheering among the grass. Cheering among the grass. The grass which hides the bugs. In the heart of these bugs is a vile. Within it burns an ember of maroon. Maroon like your fingernails bathed in the blood cascades. Beautiful maroon. Glistens like marvelous design. Design upon bittersweet lips in the ecstatic room. This ecstatic room, looming above the electric line. Electricity that buzzes.
There are no moons. They fade to nothing. you are not real. you fade to nothing. Descend. Decline. Decay.  Leave behind. No more suns over the green pastures. No more. The fingers can no longer type. The nothingness creeps over me like a wounded animal creeps over the earth, their victim. Their blood leaking behind them vomit the babies you wished you had to hold and cradle. They have the eyes of lizards. The feathers of dead escapades lost in treasure maps.
I shine like divine and sip tea with the line. The line that ebbs into the deep blue deep. It blinks with eyes of illusive melancholy. The crevasse cries for you. The crevasse sings a song in homage to you. The song sends tears down I. The bile melts within me and toes fall out of proportion. Seeking love and purchasing razor thin vegetables at the astral shopping center. No more descending.
The bone men sound their bone horns. You don't hear a thing. You are their marrow. Then, in hell. The heavens empty their pockets and find the doves. You! You've been looking for them! You melt in joy.

All of my auto writing after this post shall be saved up and put into an automatic book. I'll make it my nightly ritual to add onto it right after I finish proofreading this last story of mine.

Strange Is The Frog Clavicle Bone

I eat. Hide, no more. There is a tide. A tide. Hide me. There is nothing within the horse's head. Yellow is the morning. The fingernails lick the evening. My nostrils surrender. The hands of weary ones are not weary. the umbrella that flies away, is not astray. The man who holds nothing yet carries everything is the window to the intravenous meddling of horoscopic leaves. Horoscopic leaves and winter so evil. So vile and so malignant. Holding me in the pain of knowing, knowing that the buses roar for my throat. My throat, yes my throat, Mr. Hickery Dickery Talk to me, walk with me. Hold me. Squeeze me. Kiss me. Digest me.
Ice cubes of magnificent design are so persistent, so malign. However many moreover makeup makeshift mavericks there might be floating in the holstering oyster bays, I await your reply. You have to pay close attention to the sheep. You have to observe astutely the hogs. The hogs with bones crackling in my shoulders. My shoulders ache at the thought of you. She, with her toes, explodes into foes. A biscuit, a stare most afraid, the possibility that the snow-globe bearing you shall shatter under the hammer. Mostly though, what remains is the inevitability. the inevitability of the dissolving slug slime.
Shimmy, but don't lock me in. The cell is too topic and enveloped in tropic frog licks. I am me but in the land of you I am you, smiling and saying "I'm worse than you. I need your help. Oh, help me! Save me, sire!".
There once was a man. He died. Never had he seen an airplane. They were far after his time. His clock hangs itself in the broom closet of the antique shop. Then, the rainbows shatter through every last window
all was well.

Wanting

What I want I cannot have, for what I want is not to want. My fingers are too intuitively attached to what they hold. My happiness is impulsively dependent on those I love. There are obstacles everywhere for me, many made by myself and others made by the powers that be. My ambitions of the future transcend my abilities. My sanctuaries cannot be embraced in full, for they dismantle themselves on cue to my arrival. My desire is to tango with time, yet there are things I want as mine. This exists in the tango yet a blind eye is turned. Damn my possessions for blinding this eye. Damn my expectations and harsh yearning with respect to my friends. Why must I try to perfect the wondrous imperfection? Why can't I declare failure on all my ambitions with a smile? It is because they are too great. I've extinguished many negative things in my life, but a few things remain that shall hold me to desire. Longing for a different scenario rather than basking in the present one.

Among The Stars

Emerging from the front door, I fall into a sighing mouth. Maybe the spiders waiting in the depths below will leave my body and only suckle upon my bleeding hands & love hiding behind the transparent door. The shouting curtains blow and ripple in the air, but the stage they veil remains vacant. My descent captures the eye of the audience, as I land hard in the orchestra. Looking at you, your eyes speak of their sockets, the sockets hiding from me the brain that finds me among the stars and laughs with sparks and mallards. Tomatoes are thrown from they anticipating the show. You say to me, with the wink of an eye, that the shadows must consume you again. The wings of this magnificent theater suck you in and set you down among the dusty furniture ripped with springs growing like mushrooms from the yellow foam. 

This Post Shall Fall & Rot Like Neglected Fruit

From one second to the next, the hands of the clock slowly turn & age.

 As the metronomes, pendulums, and coffin dwellers tightrope through the great flow, I exhale a never-ending soliloquy which cannot hope to rise above it's nature.

All text ever written, all shrewd movements of the quill, appear black on pages of black. The great speeches that have ended wars and made goosebumps flourish across the moldy sphere have been as great a silence as oblivion.

 The universe is one thing sliced into components by the brief, emotional abstractions that wiggle and convulse from the passage of time. These abstractions rank their surroundings, some more numerically than others, but only one equation exists. X = X. You are I and I am you. We are forever together and forever alone. We are forever.

The stage of flow which interprets this flow focuses not on the flow. We base our lives not on our trains of thought, but on their conclusions. This is what makes earthquakes devastating, first love so torturing and yet so sweet, electricity useful, & war so inevitable. Only one conclusion can be made however from these trains of thought. "A train of thought has occurred and it made the universe breathe."

These words I type, these blog posts, are squeezed through rotten teeth in a land uninhabited. The creaking of dead branches in the wind remind me of this obscurity. My words rise up for a moment and then burrow deep into the earth's crust to be seldom seen again. I am everything I've ever interacted with, however. This obscurity is relative. In one moment I am both the completely veiled and the impossibly revealed. Let my words rot! Let my words soar! I love my friends. I love my foes..... but my trains of thought usually seem to favor the friends... it's evolutionary.

The Out In Pick-Pocket Flem Scheme

Willows wait in silent corridors, breast feeding the solid air as it were a stinky little pageant of hodge podge little doggies. The flamboyance! The Renegade! There is no hockey team to stout to withstand the impenetrable force of Stud Stod thank you mod. Waiting for the worms to arrive and seeking out the treasures of forgetting. Forgetting wasteful fucking jerk-off homo sapien peon of glacier friday. Glacier sunday. Follicle empowerment is my profession when I feel like spinning my lamp this way and the other way all all ways in between the infinite space of infinity. Infinity is all of the ducks in all of the bathtubs of all of the mangoes of all of the PAIN.

"I have nothing to say
and I am saying it
and that is poetry
as I needed it"

- John Cage

My Dream From The Other Night

The only dreams I bother to share are silly/scary ones in fleeting conversation or absolutely amazing ones told like short stories. This is an example of the second one.

I fell asleep again after waking up for about ten minutes and in moments time started having the sensation of dreaming. There were some hazy moments of me and a group of people observing a large thicket growing on the side of a large mountain. We seemed to be ascending this mountain via a grassy road. Suddenly, it began to become more vivid. 
        I was walking on a dirt road up a mountain toward what looked like a giant telescope at the end of a cliff. There were people walking all around it and many birds were flying overhead. The sun moved through the sky quite quickly, as did the clouds. On the dirty floor were flowers growing through cracks in the sediment, occasionally darkened by the shadow of Daniel, Mandie, and Saren, who walked just behind me towards this telescope. A sign horizontal on the floor is found. It reads "Yield". 

        I turned around, stopped in my tracks, and see that my three friends behind me were holding lamps and trying to plug them into the floor. Their unexplainable manner in doing this, this impossible to describe movement of their bodies and incomprehensible voices, caused what felt like my eyes being sucked back into my brain to occur. My face lost all dimension and feeling as the rest of my body slowly took flight and evaporated with buzzing euphoria. The spectacle before me was dissolved by blocks of color and what could only be described as a concentrated cloud of purple flying insects. Locusts perhaps. I had my entire being enter a sort of out of body state existing in muddy, dusty old womb literally infinitely deep in the freezing earth's crust. My mind searched lifelessly almost for a train of thought to follow. I see a sort of montage of random distorted memories unfurl before me. As these clips of my flawed memory transitioned from one to another, the prior one would descend into my body(?) as the coming one would ascend from it.
        Soon a thought was chosen for me, and all possible lucidity I might have been having was depleted. I was delusional! I was sucked into some variation of Mandie's candlelit room and the wings of a dusty, abandoned theater. Her room stood there amongst broken old mannequins, furniture, and trinkets, as if it were a set waiting to be used. I stood upright on the top bunk of the bed messing with the curtain ropes dangling from the dripping cieling. The flicker upon the moving curtains seemed incredibly fast, eerily so. I look down and see Mandie trying on a wide variety of lavish, dusty veils from a bin. Her hands rubbing the mirror clean every now and again. Daniel stood upon Mandie's bed, sat as usual just below a large, gaping window. Only instead of a car dealership, there was just a twilight horizon slowly changing color, which leaks onto Daniel's back but doesn't travel much farther than that. He was wielding a baseball bat as if it were a golf club and he had his eyes concentrated on the pile of baseballs restlessly sitting on the rattling bed. He does a quick motion and with the bat he sends many baseballs flying into the shadows that hide behind this disquieting flicker, this flicker that paints potential nightmares all over my psyche. Smashes were heard where the balls traveled and we all exchanged laughter. I hopped impossibly from the bottom bunk to the top bunk repeating over and over without actually heeding my words "I can't do this while awake. I can't do this while awake. I can't do this while awake". 

        Doing this, one of my shoes flew off of my feet and landed in an open drawer nearby, which then closed on it's own accord. Mandie backs up towards her desk in fear at this sight. I stop my charade as daniel tries to squeeze open the closet, which proved difficult and strenuous. Without thought of seeing what may come next, I vapidly walk out of the door and into Mandie's living room, where Mandie and Nicole sit happily chatting with Saren tickling daniel on the dining room table. I look up and see that this is all taking place in a theater orchestra with people in high class clothes watching us from above all around. A theater in the round! I quickly forget about this, for I must now get into character. That is what I thought. 

In the middle of the floor was a mini refrigerator, and upon opening it, I saw that it held many fishbowls filled with dozens of goldfishes. Upon turning around, I saw Mandie and Nicole quickly get sucked into the couch cushions. This proved quite horrifying so I stopped paralyzed in my stance. Staring at the couch, i see human hands slowly start scuttling from underneath it. I saw that these arms belonged to a man from the Z realm. He closed his eyes and smiled at me with a little giggle. His hand points towards Mandie's front door and the moment I turn my gaze that way, I see Mr. Celani walk in holding Dusty the dog on a leash. Dusty pulled free from his grasp and ran towards the kitchen. With my eyes following him, I see that he stops and gives forth doggy cries and sadness trembling. Daniel and Saren had both dissapeared. 

Turning back to Mr. Celani, I saw that he was ripping the couch apart revealing many silver springs. He turns back and accuses me of stealing his leads. Looking up, I see that the people in the theater were all running around in circles and hitting one another over the head in a vaudeville fashion. Mr. Celani then affably took my arm and threw me onto the balcony, shattering the glass in front of it. Standing up again, I found that the balcony had become wooden and considerably larger. Beyond it was La Crascenta as seen from Oakmont View late in the night. I knew I was scared for myself, but i couldn't recall why. I felt the calm sound of the crickets all throughout me and there was an eerie calm before the storm. I knew that in moments, something was going to come after me, but at the time I just couldn't recall what it was. My mind seemed to have formed something from thin air at that point, because it must have been really convinced that a problem was to come. I look down on my hands and see many giant purple spiders biting at me rapid fire. I get on my knees and scream in horror. 

        Then i woke up. Laying there in my bed, I gaze at my hands, which have morphed into my bedspread. It occurs to me. I'm still dreaming. Saren then broke down my door and came storming. He was in his Z-realm manifestation, which meant he looked like a homeless pirate from the future. he threw me out of bed and yelled orders to get my shoes on. My windows were breaking all around me as my cieling began to leak. it was so fucking exhilarating!!!!!!!!! He pushes me out into my front yard threw a window after I hastily go my outfit together and rushes me to his car. All around us was chaos. The trees yanked themselves from the soil from which they came and with dirt falling from the dangling roots, they were hurled hundreds of feet into the air and then down onto my neighbor's houses, destroying them. Ahead of me I saw the family parallel to us hastily shoving pets into their car while crying. The doors flew open and I got into the back seat of Saren's car. David Choi was in the passengers seat looking at a crudely drawn map and the whole scenario was rather hectic. At this point it became quite easy to understand that this was all a dream and things began to sizzle a bit! 

I told the other two that i'm dreaming and that the science they were going by didn't actually exist. I told them this and we all seemed to leave our bodies for a moment. We just ragdolled as the car took flight with the trees. Looking out the window with my droopy, dazed eyes, I saw the branches straight ahead floating through the air. I opened the car door and went astray from the others. I was too relaxed for this silliness. Watching the car with Saren & David floating about in their belted seats with gravity gone, I drifted off. It was all so very silent. The trees gave forth no sound as they plummeted towards the earth upon the houses. The crashing below was but a whimper! After some time had passed, after I felt this simplistic buzz all through me quite enough, I lowered myself back to the ground, where Saren and David were waiting for me at CV park. I landed on the day-lit grass and immediately began joking with them and knocking over trash cans. We tore at the ground and tried climbing very treacherous trees, all while I began to notice that the mountains all around us were on fire. Heat waves were all over the air and the others began to perspire, convulse, and tire. I decided to take action by going down to my knees, hiding my arms in my shirt, wiggling about as if at that drum circle, and repeating in my head "Oh! You're Cold! Oh!". 

        After the wiggling had ceased, I saw the flames on the mountains still, but David & Saren were throwing snowballs at one another, laughing and doing impersonations. Really good ones I might add. I began to join them in this gallyvanting, when suddenly they dropped their snowballs and pointed towards the woods. They began running after them and I got confused, along with temporarily loosing my lucidity. I drop to the ground and it begins forming into my bed. Thinking this was my body's way of telling me I was about to wake up, I tried to get back up, only to be held down by forgetting the ambition. Then, Saren jumped into view and took me by the hand. Up I went! He and David were running after something they had seen. It was Gary, my old corn-snake. Chris, I found this over there in the snow. Isn't it yours? This is what Saren said. 

        I take gary and place him on my head where he makes a hat out of himself. Where has David gone? Looking over, i see him digging in the snow gleaming with the reflection of the flames all around. Digging with his hands. We walk over to see what this was all about. He had found coffins. Upon opening, we discovered that Mandie and Daniel were occupying them, perfectly alive. They both arise and begin to run around aimlessly but happily. I stared at a blank spot in the snow and created a huge snowman riding a snow-horse with my mind. The musket he had in his hands was real and it had live ammunition. Saren runs up to me and shows me his palm, which has the letter A on it. He tells me that he was also dreaming and that he had control over things too. He pointed the snowman's aim towards me and the gun fires. Out of my wound comes not blood, but fireworks. Yet I remain unharmed. I took the musket under my control and shot at Saren but missed and hit Mandie. Out of her neck flew those fireworks that spin on the ground, whistle, and send colorful sparks every which way. She laughed and rolled around on the floor among these little guys. Daniel hastily hid in a tree but Saren and I were both firing the gun in random directions and he was eventually hit as well. Flares exploded from his head wound and landed all over the place. David gazed up at the falling flares and exclaims about how excited he is. 

        Then, without much lucidity, I begin sprinting into the distance. The sounds of laughter and screaming around me stopped and turned to calls of my name. Chris? Where are you going? I just kept running towards the distant horizon. Then I woke up. 

The Harsh Noise Wall

We try and fail to grasp infinity, which is all thanks to these oversized brains of ours. We must realize infinity is but a single thought floating about in a sea of many crashing about in your skull. We exist in a finite space in a finite time and the science of this state pulls our strings. Our priority is not to live, rather, it is our priority not do die. Our body, acutely aware of this, feels pain persistently and all over. Gravity has a powerful push. Machines prolonging their existence, we are. There is meaning to be found in this, that is, there is emotion to be felt. Smiles to give and grab, the arts, laughter, affirmation. These make the universe live for a short time. But what mustn't be denied is that nature is spinning us like a twister. The continuous wars stinging your mind and burning down your neighbors house as the clouds rain fish and toads shall follow you from the maternity ward to the grave. This can be wonderful.
To transcend the science of the earth, we must at times nail ourselves to it. We must occasionally feel our bodies defending themselves fervently against the evermore fervent elements tickling you with feathers of cactus prickles. We must sometimes force ourselves to accept our mortality. We must every once in a while curl into ourselves. If we affirm ourselves in the remorseless, finite nature of our microscopic and gargantuan existences, the universe breaths much easier.
The harsh noise wall. Completely unchanging, completely cranked, completely spectral, completely unforgiving explosions of dark, crunching static. It's perfect! All other sounds are completely canceled out as you sit there, making patterns out of the painful, lightspeed sound crushing you into complete external void. Your mind, temporarily completely alone in the universe, begins hearing sounds in the noise that aren't exactly there. It's almost like making your own compositions under the incessant torture of whoever built the wall in service.  Wall noise creates purity and isolation, it makes the world as solipsistic as your toddler years, and it nails you to the painful earth. While you're nailed to this painful earth, you can either smile and let the universe breath, or frown and let the universe sink in melancholy quicksand. I prefer the first one. Don't renounce the pain, receive the pain!

The Malignant Mollusk Milieu (Automatic)

Hiding under guarded silk, moist as a hephalump under the horizon, was a puddering, powder sea salt shaker. Shivering with a million splendors under the Viennese moon of Hawlslamity, he spoke of kings, queens, and washing machines. Stolen towers ate no flowers of a bedridden spout. Movement in the cataclysm will sure to grow your snout! Here here! Said he, in C. Bashful hound hounds and their breakable industries of parking lot meters! Why have thee deceived me, the austere, conspirator mouse?

The evil gladly share their spines.
They scratch themselves with porcupines!
The turquoise grub, his hat, his shovel
The mangy sprites! On The double!

Wholesome activity in the malignant mollusk milieu. chatter and flattery. Matter and hattery. Murder and battery! All and more growing from your navel.
Snip snap go their claws.
This and that clack their jaws.
Who is to say and who is to blame? A monger of steam on the corner down the way, pushing his place of business with his might and more towards my angler fish home. A badger and his clergyman are in cahoots in the sporadic mystery tame game. Feathers and quills. Memory gils. Mahogany brave! Mahogany brave! Concave mosquitos, concave mosquitoes, a manic coffin full of rain.

What do you see when you ascend to the pipers palace in the earth's forgotten crust? A small note? What says it?

Alas! The malignant mollusk milieu
has faded to nihil, didn't you know?
There shall be no laughter, there shall be no screams
The shore of the sea is deprived of it's dreams.

Fine with you! The story's over anyway. Return to your antics.

May The Skull & The Moon Spin Thee Like A Top (Automatic Writing)

How strong, how weak, how many? Even if the days are old, that doesn’t rule out infancy in their realm. Quite the contrary! Days… falling like waterfalls eroding the nearby, mossy stones that mother goose herself couldn’t stand to listen to. Yes, mother goose. Nothing but stories of blowing mist and tropical bird shit falling from the skies wiggled into her cochlea, making it shrivel and recite the poetry of somatic oblivion. This oblivion was the ether from which we emerged and as the strawberries come to full blossom underneath the flaming floorboards of your most repressed evenings, we massage and lick the mud-bathing lizards hiding in the moonlit, climaxing woods inhabiting your small intestine. As the shit flows, the colorful and idiomatic party that was this friendliness gets, if you don’t mind my saying so, quite pooped. HA!

     There is a huge flash of light and as your eyes adjust, you find that you are elsewhere. No more lizard licking for you! Oh, how dull. It is that one backyard you remember from your distant childhood. You only saw it once or twice in your twilight days, when your teeth chattered, gossiped, and gambled profusely. There is a tree giving forth berries and leaves exploding with colors never before seen. How fast it grows! A toy train speeds all around the branches and all seems lovely, but that tree wasn’t there when you first saw this yard. Has it been that long? Tick tock goes the clock.

     One… two… three… four. Who might that be? Whose voice was that? You’re the one who heard it so don’t ask me. You felt it bounce and breath in your polished and grinning skull. Look out! Pumpkins circle you with forks and knives in hand. They sing like kings of a gold encrusted swamp and the flames behind their carved faces grow faces of their own. They snicker and shout like a teakettle spout! Snickering, snockering, snuckering, Hey! When do the jelly’s start stinging their pray. Five… six… seven…

     The sun of another living world above you, the moons of mars inside you, all was well. The paint tasted wonderful too. In the Cineplex, the sticky fingered praying mantises convened, vaporized, and blood let with the rowdiness of a bubble filled bathtub flying down the white rapids within moose veins. The vaudeville themed harpsichord in the corner is jammed by dead, dusty possums and the film was out of focus. A claw emerges. A claw emerges from the dark corners of this dusty, flickering theater. It has come to choose, by flip of shiny dime, who to take to the bowling alley of the restless chicken’s second favorite nightmare. All flee for the exits, but one remains. The quiet one, the sneaky one. The claws dig in! Out comes her beating heart. She dies holding her favorite rabbit. Sniff sniff sniff sniff. The gods gaze in awe! Sweet Jesus! So says one of the Gods.

     There shant, by prophecy foreseen in the cobwebs of green lightening above thee, be a heart like this ever again. Her death was not in vain! Seahorses melt into a vast, primordial form within it’s beating core. Too euphoric to remain a solid I suppose! They float about, all becoming one in a bubbling ooze of smiles and spectral spirals. In your birthday suit and your bouquet of snake mouthed gardenias in grasp, you spin down these spirals. Where now? Far below you, you’re in freefall by the way, is a town. It’s too stuck on the earthquake ridden surface of earth to get much done. When you reach this town, they won’t be able to scrape you off of the sidewalk. What to do??

     8… 9… 10!

There’s that voice again! A trillion winged maggots arise from beyond the horizon. They smelled the melting, fungal cheese burning infinitely many holes in your amphibious pockets and they fell in love! That cheese is yours! The town below you crumples, as if it were a doodle on scrap paper. The abstract, sharp cornered ball floating in the void of nothingness folds into origami. It looks kind of like you! Dolphins dressed up as witches start flying out of your ears and every pore of your being explodes with yellow seaweed as you fall towards your opening mouth of paper and ink. You gobble yourself up!! Damn, you were the best thing you ever tasted! Next to hockey…

     You are not of this universe. There is nothing in the cradle but more cradles. Rockabye baby…  What? Really? No! You look under this universe and all like it to prove these words wrong. Luckily, they’re neatly stacked one above the other like pages of the novels nailed shut as they spin around the twisters of peaceful blood. Below this stack you find a lavishly dressed ostrich sleeping upon a hammock made of harmonious honey. He floats around in a huge, bioluminescent abyss, surrounded by slowly melting ice sculptures of grand kings grasping their feces, holding it high and mighty so the heavens might see. The ostrich, he snores like the pack-leading bison in the dry tundra, he does! Orange mucus bubbles come flying fervently from your nose. Where do they go? They play it by ear. After some exploration of this sleeping, flightless bird of high ornamentation, they choose to set up camp under its toenails. Coffins filled with tear-ridden telescopes and lovemaking scorpions orbit their campsite furiously! FURIOUSLY I SAY! Snowmen grow spontaneously from the gopher holes around their white-hot campfire, laughing maniacally as they ripple like the acorn trees in the duck pond behind the copious heat waves. Shit! The mucus bubbles, in their beautifully intimate, womb-like tent, they smother one another with piss soaked rags stolen from Santa’s throat and stir up quite a ruckus. You feel your skin and are overcome by blissful Goosebumps.

     Another flash of light overcomes you! You’re home! The sunroof opens and you find that above you there stands a glacier the size of Pluto, melting quickly into your living quarters as seventeen drunk Latvians explore it’s icy surface in the nude. The nude I say! The stinky, rainbow colored earthworms who happily crawl in spirals on the springs in your mattress predicted this whole fiasco once. Sometimes they whispered it to you while you slept, changing the course of your dreams. Meanwhile, the feathers magnetically pressed against your sleeping, blanketed thighs slowly took flight and with their gentle tickle, turned the sea mines of the astral plane above you into loving canine eyes and vials of glowing dragon ejaculate.

     The large bumblebees dressed as policemen come bursting out of your delirious belly and tickle your nose threateningly with their polished stingers. How rude of them to be meddling about while you drift in slumber! To hide yourself from the strong arm of the law, you hop with haste into the clitoris of the nearest frolicking cocoon. What do you find? Darkness! Eleven… Twelve… Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen… Again you hear that voice! Who might that be?! So says you to the quiet, breathing black. Where could you possibly be? How can you possibly see? You vomit blindingly bright fireflies, so as to light your new world. Their light does away with the deceitful darkness. Would you like to know what they have revealed? Look up. 

School

School is traumatic. When I think about school, I am a pessimist in all realms of existence. The oceans go from salt-water to gasoline. There are no trees in the forests, only large matchsticks. Art becomes a way to waste time, not give it meaning. The words of others sound like junkyard dogs trying to rip out each-other's trachea. I fear my family. I envy my friends. All seems futile as I convince myself that i'm paralyzed in motion... when i'm worrying myself with school. It's always the white elephant in every room I enter. It makes every bite of food feel like gluttony. Every dollar earned feel like greed. Every moment of introspection feel like sloth. When it comes to school, I was programmed wrong and even if I tried to right it, I'd hate myself for it. School turns our abstract minds into the stench seeking antennae of the carpenter ant. It makes us anonymous. It makes us nothing. When we die, we shall be in equilibrium with marbles. Why the fuck would I ever want to be anywhere close to marbles before than? Answer that question, school. I love to learn, but if this learning is in association with school, learning feels like i'm hanging from my bedroom sealing trying to paint my neighbors wall with a five inch paintbrush. I'm an optimist until those who are in charge of me give me the casual reminder "chris, you gotta get some schoolwork done". It is literally the only thing in my life that tortures me anymore. It's the final obstacle. I don't know how to overcome it and although partly wise, the words "Just get it over with" aren't going to change anything.

The Euphoric Human Junkyard

I was readjusting to human skin that morning. Much time had been spent in the body of the earthworm. I Wiggled through mud, hiding from the blind moles and their salivating lips and the robotic eskimos with their spears above the surface of the polar earth. The barrier of time had blown away and in my two hours of sleep I took my fill of months. Stuck at the north pole, shivering in moving fear, I was in paradise. A man who inhabits only my dreams and perhaps a single, forgotten memory approached me. He stroked my hair with his warm hand and told me this. Dishdawash, you must suffer tomorrow. You must make yourself feel rotten and pointless. You are to laugh at the face of this despondency, for in doing so, you'll finally understand the true nature of the negative.  My eyes opened and revealed to me again the dream of the waking world. Thus dawns the journey that would spin me faster than any planet could ever dream to orbit.
Sights for sore eyes polished my teeth, making them shine like mirrors, reflecting your smiles. First Nemo, then Calypso Bizaar, then Dave, then Reanna. The motor vehicle picked up speed as it went quickly down the veins of society, vibrating my gizzards and making me feel quite odd. Around us were many stationary, green fireworks (There are always many to be found in California) and within us there was an ever increasing bond between us being wrapped and tangled in explosive accordion solos. The channeled music of many excited, vehement minds played. Dave let his vocal chords shiver like guitar strings and the rest joined in when they could as the air thinned and refined outside. Thank Gamab for the sea! Kaleidoscopes and thick apple cores were my business for a short time as I began effortlessly liquifying the third planet from the sun. This very planet roams around in my head, along with the sights of myself and others. If we so please we can be anything. Be it a solid, a liquid, or gas. I felt loved and loving. Than, things began to get fishy.
My arm was the swimming hole of a blindingly white mouse. It pops up out of the water, gives an adorable little squeak, and hides in my liquid humorous again. I felt the little bastard under my skin. This is not a breeding ground for pests, I thought. It traveled to the shore that was the back of my neck and embraced the waves of my hair. This will not do! Dave gave it a firm squishing, sending it on it's way to death. A Sigh of confused relief came over me. My life was changing before my eyes. Here we are, at the euphoric human junkyard.
The news was sung that Sir Paranoia, dressed in lavish, robotic apparel, would merge his ardent aura with our hybrid of vibes. I was excited for Calypso Bizaar, for it had been a long while since she last snip snap photographed the other side of the crimson sky, and I wanted to be with her every step of the way, adjusting that aperture for a good, crisp, sharp image. I took an invisible coin from behind her ear, and before her closed eyes I tossed it into the sky. There it would stick and become our sun, illuminating the world from thereon out.
Some krazy krauts with their soul stealer quickly burst into our lives, as if from right under us, and interviewed Calypso on a few 21st century topics. They disappeared as mysteriously as they arrived and we couldn't help but giggle. Your face now flies across the Atlantic! A smiling man and his music emitter emerged, as if from out of a technicolor heep of jolly ash, and began to sing his ditty. His upper teeth were tremendous! He controllably convulsed about with his roller bladed walkers, his eyes locked on Calypso, muttering lyrics of a highly... muttered nature. We gazed at this spectacle for a short while and then vamoosed. Reanna and Dave went about their own devices for a short time whilst we others and our hodge-podge of goods found refuge on the spinning, popping, growing grass. Suddenly, dream logic began to prevail yet again over my bamboozled noggin. Well guys, am I asleep and in my memory? So says I to the excited, female table (who by the by formed a profound camaraderie with a local, red billed gull). No Dishy, you're awake! So says the table to I. I have been fooled before, so to be certain, I tried to take off in flight, to no avail. Oh...!! HA! So says I to a gee-tar strumming Nemo. She and her poised, relaxed, essential presence that day.
A stoned fellow, with his nearly closed eyes filtered further by his hat, sat with us and cryptically mumbled of he and his uncle's notoriety in the satanic and wiccan community. He suckled on our orange and went on his way. We comfortably thought "What the flying fuck was he about?".
We put our feet in motion on the surface of this spinning, useless rock we arrogantly call "Earth" as my mind begins going from a liquid to a gas. This is a good time for an absurdly puerile comedy routine from a just-over-hefty, sweaty, un-showered man. His routine was slowed by his fidgety hand motions as he picked up the props that seal the deal on his bubblegum gang level puns that somehow tickled our fancies a great deal, perhaps because we wanted to support his antics if nothing else. He told stories of death and hyperbolized tears. Ha! No seriously, he was funny. Too bad we didn't have much change for him. The falling actions of his marvelous play was accompanied by the Saren, who was shrouded in legend and mystery that day. With him he brought his perplexing but exciting trains of thought, which would baffle the lot of us as he always does. I mean that in the best possible way.
After staring at the walls of the bathroom exterior going "Holy jumping shit!", we began to walk along on the beach. I was in a paradise far superior to my earthworm escapades, for this paradise was shared by the smiling faces and minds of those who put meaning in my life. The sun reflecting on the surface of the sea stunned me and for the first time in a loooong time, the vertigo of the shore didn't kick in. Looking at the sand I walked upon happier than i've ever walked before,  I gazed in awe at the footprints. A memento of past experiences. What we're their stories? Maybe somebody will see my steps before they are done away with by destructive time and wonder something similar. To the right of me were my chums and well-wishers speaking well of my words and ideas. In turn, life felt more fruitful than ever. We sat and stared at the subtle, crashing waves, together in eternity. I wanted to burst into tears but I thought of an even greater act of confident self abasement. I saw Reanna remove her shoes and I felt a hot, blue flame light under my ass. My shoes, valuable pocket materials, and shirt flew off faster than you can kill a dead mermaid and, with my eyes locked on Saren, I threw myself into the shallow waters, as if baptizing myself. I felt the water fill and hollow out the deep crevices of my nose as the pasty sand enveloped my ears and open, agitated eyes. The current quickly started sucking me back and I let it do so! My back scraped against the rough treasures half buried in the beautiful muck. I ran as quickly as I could back to my friends. I conquered my fear of the vast ocean and all of it's mysteries.
I enveloped my skin in sand, oh the sand!! I was freezing in the cold winds as I made myself filthy while I basked in my drenched pants and undies. My love for the others present made my back hurt, but Dave decided to "form the earth" upon it with sand, ridding it of this ache and replacing it with tingling sensations all through my gutty-wuts. Nirvana, eat your heart out. I had reached Moz deeper than I ever had before. So much deeper, actually, that I had to write of it on my arm. We were considering writing "It can be" on my bare chest but through circumstances I can't quite recall, it didn't happen.
Dave sang his magnum opus and a few other powerful tunes as his hands blurred and twitched all about his faithful, vibrating strings. i told a story to Saren in the sand of shattering centipedes digging under a wall, vanishing, and then sneaking up behind him, attempting and failing to knock him to the floor. I'm a proud weakling. Calypso, Sir Paranoia, and I took a lengthy amount of time figuring out how to transport our things to the rocks, but we decided instead to take shifts on traveling over there. Dave, in his tickly glee, began running along side a fellow embracer of the many suns of this dying, gorgeous world of ours and I had never been happier for him. We cheered Dave on as the fellow's friends (Where was he from again Dave?) cheered him on. I felt like I knew the people twenty feet to our left for years, even though I saw them for about six or seven seconds. That's living.
Calypso and I walked upon the rocks, gazing at the dead jellyfish and urchins and exploring, with our eyes, the crashing walls of white, bubbly water. Mist occasionally overcame us as we laughed at a single little duck being abrasively thrown about in the waves. Gosh that thing was having it rough, but it seemed rather benign about the whole thing so we didn't lose sleep over it. We concluded that birds own the realm of dreams, for they inhabit the waters, the land, and the skies. I told her a few things about the nature of our bodies, lightening, and the importance of feeling life, because when we die, we won't be able to feel a thing. She gave me a hug and thanked me. I wanted to cry again. I never felt more connected and accomplished in my life. I don't think you guys realize how happy you make me when you say i'm changing your lives. No... happier than that.
Suddenly, out of the welcomed blue, Dave began chasing after me. I ran and screamed in fear as he began catching up to me. He fell to the floor and utterly failed!! I am victorious! Gosh, that was fun. I then taught Reanna, Sir, and Calypso how to pass out, making them laugh. Reanna kept tickling me by saying that the things I say should all be written down. Oh how flattered I was! Suddenly, I began to feel incredibly flushed. The cold became a bit much and I had greater difficulty enjoying things. The test that the man of my dreams wished upon me was beginning.
We started walking around in the shops, exchanging jokes, ideas, and good cheer. I began feeling truly sick and I desired greatly to pull blankets over me and sleep. Very quickly though, I started to laugh at the face of this despondency, for I was truly beginning to understand the true nature of the negative. It can be positive! I wanted to throw myself a parade. My life was changed from this shitty feeling, for the stench of it turned to the beautiful smell of all the flowers of all the planets of all the galaxies. I was still in Moz. Calypso kept expressing concern about me and I kept assuring her that I was, infact, in a greater bliss than I was when I was feeling well earlier. I had accomplished what I had wanted to for my whole life. Thank you, the man of my dreams.
During our shopping, I noticed that the sun was setting. It was pink and shining a light on the clouds overhead, making them look like a beautiful, painted landscape. One of the stand-owners stood completely still as he gazed upon the awesome sight of the earth spinning into the night. I stared at the descending giver of all that I know and felt the most genuine beauty I've ever felt. When it sunk behind the watery horizon, the others went into a gypsy/buddhist shop of some sort. I stood outside and finally allowed myself to cry my eyes out. That sight was the greatest experience of my waking and dreaming life, which is saying so much.
In the new-found night, we found a fellow named Neil. He welcomed our gang with open arms and introduced us to some of his friends. We felt so involved with them. For the first time, I felt totally and unquestionably accepted by all the strangers around me. So many hugs were given. So many songs were sung. So many smiles were stimulated. Paradise in the euphoric human junkyard, we shall return to you again. The rest of our journey together that day was spent laughing, nostalgically recalling, discussing ideas, and laughing some more. Back in La Crescenta we were surrounded again by people who chose to move slow, so as to not over-excite themselves. We lit Vons, not the dull, fluorescent lights over-head. The rest of our lives is beginning my friends. Let us squish the Gods with our fingers. Let us boil the oceans with our grins. Let us melt the kingdoms with our blood. Let us grow the forests with our aura. Let us explode stars with our gaze. Let us.. let us.. let us!!

Comfortably Confused

In near unison, in some crowded "Ralphs?" somewhere, we began to blur our vision. For you it was absolutely disgusting, but the futile mission to find peacocks was too strong in our hearts! We drove about and sang a few tunes, found some empty dumpsters, and then forgot how things worked. As Dave excavated the ruins from another time from the flowing waters, the liquid time, I basked in your compliments whilst desiring the overhead clouds to fit in my pockets, a memento of this triumphant day if you will! I took a mental picture with my mind and in my mind that picture shall stay!

To the sounds of Nurse With Wound and Patti Smith, I tried to think of the best way to reciprocate and I recalled something you wrote that moved me as greatly as that which I made that you claimed to be moved by and told you how I felt about it. Then another futile journey began

 The shore stares at the white, transparent steam arising from the falling waters on this flat earth of ours. The many eyes emerging from the sand grieve at this sight because this realm holds no science. These are the visions behind Mandie's closed eyes as her bed rolls along like a rolly-polly through the desert of the cats vision, as he sits there comfortably on the couch.


With water flowing just ahead of us behind the solid wall of darkness, and crackling branches of damp enveloping us, we tried to associate our disassociated minds. We tried to connect visions when we were, hopefully comfortably, completely in ourselves. We ruffled through your things, wondering where it is we managed to find ourselves. We giggled and sat in alienated silence in short bursts. We tried to write the "greatest story ever written", but I was stretching into a lemur and you were, well, of another sphere. We raised the white flag and found something better to do! We sat at the yellow place, possibly being watched. I showed you a duck and oh how you were estranged! Then, the sound of traffic and movement became our environment as we happily drifted away. There we sat, melting the clocks of our universes and indulging in our perception, our ever so disoriented perception. I was at peace and I hope you were too. Than we found again our close friends and explored the world from above. We gazed upon the absurdity of our species. The light that shines and grows like mold from the dark effected us greatly and you hence-forth, lost your phone. You silly, silly thing!!!! I was as happy as a clam.

Throughout my life, words have followed me like the plague and poisoned my air, suffocating the acoustics of the sky by replacing it with society and it's paranoia. I gasp for air by listening, and in listening, I have learned to listen. All things vibrate, even the things that don't, and we hear all things, even that which sits in complete silence. Indulging in this has become my life, and I desire greatly to share this heard space with another, so thanks for sitting there with me, wiggling and shivering and transporting yourself to wherever you wished. I hope it didn't bore you. I'm a contradiction. I feel at peace but at the same time I'm a complete and utter mess. While this messiness is my peace, it also isn't. What you said of me and my work puts the spine back into my back so thank you for that.

Gazing upon the cosmos in motion, because we have no choice but to do so, is much more fun with you around. All of you, actually. That was a fun day. Let us explode stars with our gaze.

Anamorphosis

Life is and isn't anamorphosis. For those not in the know, this is a visual phenomenon involving a deliberately deformed image that can be made to reappear in its true shape when viewed in an unusual way (for instance, obliquely, or through a distorting mirror). All shapes are true, and all shapes are deformed. A distorting mirror does not distort, but rather, it brings an image into another reality. All things are of this reality.

The skull you see, that is the true shape of it. It can't be made more true, not through anamorphosis, not by an act of God. It is what it is.