Thought Spill



The following individuals, in no particular order of any kind, contributed to the spilling of thoughts that went on into the early morning hours on the night of 20 March: Alex Simonsen, Gina Shtulman, David Casey, Evan Moss, Ian Renner, Rachel Saxon, Theresa Bichsel, Alana Clark, Matt Flannes, Gail Fitzsimmons, Alessandra Phelan-Roberts, Pat Nelson.


* * * * *


Psycho killers qu’est-ce que c’est?

There was a gumby man walking with a pink cat in his arms. No matter what happened…

A mirror braid

Endochromatic climactic addict, insane in da brain, foooooo man chu!
Ne holins ga

Carefully placing plastered fingers upon plastic toes…watching…waiting…yearning…

There was this chill bear, in the woods. He was constructing his habitation bordering an abundant proliferation of the cannabis leaf, making it fairly convenient for Dr. Chill (the bear), to make excellent utilization of this phenomenon.

The bear and its mate quietly sat in the space rays of the sun. A quiet breath entered and escaped the peaceful duo infinitely. The birds faintly chattered as the slow flow of H20, full soul.

These wee little bears were in the anarchic jungles of Hybernia. Living day to day was a continuous battle for survival and preservation of the family. There were coca-dealing lions, cutthroat thieving parrots. There were psychotic serial killer tigers.

Flower growing from snow. Life is coming from destruction, death of another. Thriving off the H20 from the snow. Black and white. Red and Blue…

Up and down. One foot this side one foot that. Double double this this double double that that. Vamano a cuelquier lugar porque yo quiro estar en otro lugar. Pero a donde vamos a donde vamos en importa.

In all my life, I have never seen something more magnificent than the Fro Lifasanon of Ghana and Suhisha! Kids me qusta la chica de Russia y lo que es el miercoks del selaan. It is as if the beacon of life is being darkened by the debate. I mean fetal unbirth of abortionomus aralius etenbior matron carookaig markash ailun. Mersinthel sao erh fana marsoon. For Aiur!

Craziness is seeping, scrawling through the crevices of darkened walls. The world of dreams is fading, vanishing into the glimmering dawn of reality. Soon we’ll wake up and hope to dream, shadows will crawl unsuspected, and listen to our thoughts, wreaking havoc, spoiling fantasy. I hope I can remember…

It’s blue. Fucking blue! I look and I see BLACK. What the Fuck would I do without light. Where is the light. The Future is nothing to discuss, not everything. It is fear, excitement, hope, cynicism. It is nothing, like dormant nature, we will never truly know it.

The purple shirt. The half-empty moist bottle of taste excitement. The mood is removed from the situation, no cares man what are the holes in the squares called?

A one tin man who lived in a can. Wife named Ann, Yes, he was quite a GUY. Heroine…The placid lake is blue. It is…It’s a SCREAM.

Through the window there is life, there is token. There are beliefs that will one day shrivel up and die a bloody, crusty death that consists of drudging deaths and progressive individual? The most effective of men push the granite stone up the hill of what society is. From imminent death to life to death to life. It all was in the hands of select few, and all turned to follow in order to succeed. But hundreds of thousands of billions of elements of life are coming at you and what the fuck am I to do. I just don’t know what to do with myself.

As the new millennium dawned on Middle East society, one epicenter of knowledge emerged. Alexandria, located inside present-day Egypt, held scriptures from lands across the mysterious wastes. It was said that every prevalent thought was documented at this time. However, trouble brewed with neighbors from the north-west. The Romans posed a pre-emptive attack on the area to augment their empire. In a challenge of war, the Romans set fire to the multi-building establishment. History was sent back 1000 years.

Can I handle this? Please…of course I can. And I am in with my fish which tells me that I am in love. I guess that you could call him a cocky fish, because I am not in love with him. Writing is great and there is no better way to express your thoughts. I was just thinking of Peter. No one knows what I am talking about. Peter is gay, so it is not what you think. If I keep on writing then it helps to stop my crashing. I wish that I could think of something more meaningful to write about. This is so dumb. What the hell is wrong with my mind? I just wish that I could think a little more. I hear you Ian. You say this is nothing when it is everything. Or am I just paranoid. I think you are talking about me. That must be it because I know that what I am saying or just me in general is not very interesting. You can’t think that I am that stupid. Ahh…People, come up with your own ideas instead of just quoting each other’s thoughts! I wish I could do that.

What the hell am I doing? Smoking paper with a chemical to bleed our impulses in our brains. Common sense, simple common sense. Right? You understand your life? Don’t you? Life’s complicity is not even slightly documented to the fullest extent the many millions of elements of life that go into the strumming of those strings is inexplicable. These strokes are one simple dimension in a world of POLY dimensions. But the connection is just that, a connection. And the strokes of the hand and the strokes of the 6ixer of the strokes of the molecules scratch the true surface of life. I did a fat lungbuster!

The squares surround, existence is order and infinite symmetry wherever I behold, patterns and repetitive shapes.

The coke-dealing armadillos of the shady jungles of Columbia were an unruly lot. After numerous unsuccessful attempts to blackmail the Hybernian bears into joining a decentralized global coca distribution network, the armadillos resorted to vigilante tactics. Three Bogota-trained assassinadillos were dispatched to the Hybernian nether to neutralize their economic rivals, but the bears had by this time mobilized into a highly disciplined formation, The Guardians of the Holy Chronic. They would defend their hallowed fields to the death (and beyond).



-various

20 March 2004

Substances abused: Marijuana and Alcohol