The Meaning of Life

See the fog coming in

Reet — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 02:10:12 GMT

When this right here tells me that I am only together for once in my life and it was a moment's notice ago that I felt it was that way. But then twice the phone rang and somebody else answered the line, on the other end, saying "I think we shall experience a new beginning in the works and I would be honored to share it with the likes of you." Quite a dissident path indeed from the previously mentioned heretic's first tongue and grove into the new construction of a universe untold before by any prior advantageousness, only on that of my own first strengths and the previous forgotten memories of my abilities that were shunned before, only by my own worst enemy: myself: I digress into the point which is to pontificate further the reasons why this happened and gladly first I must admit it was scary, though we pulled through and she suggested to stay friendly and it was thus the last greatest known moment of juicy frothy squishy goodness that was remembered so fondly and longed for so greatly upon her return. And this new perspective has light and a view too, so there are many windows and exactly sixteen franklins and forty quarters away from next month's greatest chase into the destiny only known as the renter's rights to regurgitate and spew out what we so begrudgingly say we earn in our dastardly ways and what not. This day will begin to erode and so will everything, but to bask in it once a day ( or was it twice?). ANyhow, the point is to remember the past and never forget about the future.

Painful ruins of sadness provoked

Reet — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 14:11:06 GMT

Thoroughly forgotten were the considerations of the memories and the feelings that persisted forever will they remain, for the love I've felt hurts nothing more than the needle in the rectum of my soul's last great attempt at connection to the world's greatest lover. It aches like the the bar stool remaining on the ground from its probingly poignant device in the bowels of their vasectomitic-prone lifestyle that has blown up in my own face once and for all...again and again. Once again the life that has been lead by this radioactive irridium-laden troglodyte in theramorphinergic lysectomy - that is to say and induced stupor unbeknownst heretoforth without sayings and its methodical madness manifested hearsay, without a decibal meter or a smell-o-meter neither... Tears of fear and repetitive flatulence, filial piety nothing further than the truth towards our mother's greatest intentions for a future of grandiose proprotions. Alas, The end is near and there dust is going to settle someday. My last greatest attempt for interactive connectivity in the third powers has left a prize buried in the dust and rubble of the maritime nightmare, again and again, they do it.he suggests it, and she suggests it too! again and again and again and again. But three days notice has turned into an ill fait accompli of the slice of brain of the rat from physiological basement laboratories. Planning cities sounds so much more positive as it does the farce that planning in the first place is the yahoo's greatest poteniatilly dangerously disease ridden souls that make nothing other than the third degree possible in therapy. Other than the fact he's there and well, for now, she is too. This ruinous painful factulaistic fatality has credibly interlocuted serfdoms abroad, kingdoms, democracies, fascismo, social and particularly atheism, free love and communism. So If she did decide to stay then it seems the end is nearly hearsay and feeling the bas rumble in the heartbeat is the sexualistic reminder of the fact that something in the distance that creates a pattern of sounds unlike our color perceptive cones and rods even when we're horny to ache another heartfelt bloody morning staining this or that and never even bothering to use protection any more for it's plasma-screen-gore-tex sub-text threads two days before the inner visions of sadness that radiate thoughts of insufficient subordinative terrifically seductive and juicily threateningly sullied and supple it comes over tomorrow morning for a workout of details and the next phase of a relativistic affair in transformation and pleasantries. G'day, she suggested...? Can you watch me rearrange his threateningly crass and terribly seductive shrimp into a relationship with my one and only last great chance at a barbie again and again and again and again? Only when it comes out on DVD.

Smoke rings on Polk street

Reet — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 14:54:41 GMT

Purple petals of thoughtfulness and consideration go a long way towards rude and extreme moments beyond our control. Sometimes we must confess to give the homeless more than they can perceive to be the best lift of all and in strict confidentiality, but then again, word gets around when you got the mad perfunctory color that prefers to be known of nothing other than the third degree and an assinine excuse for service, or even a seat in the bar even. It was his perogative or her interogitory salutory nature of the stickiest and slipperiest of situations that create nothing other than when that guy kissed me and made me ignore the most insatiable of questions. Would I? she asked, and he asked and againa she asked..., actually, Well? I Never did say that the crystalic depths charge into the night's first and last lesson into the nature of streets and alley ways. Blow the wad and see if it matters. Save it for what into the unforseeable future? A new beginning is upon us, or is it already happening? The empirical nature of our perception says that there is nothing other than the first given mindful moment of interlocutory trust, confabulated with the dust, disgustingly envious of her wise choice to retort, and of course it made me cry... again and again. again and again.

Supergroovaliciousprosifunksticationalistically yours.

Reet — Thu, 27 Dec 2007 23:55:36 GMT

The first day back on the stuff, it was clear the cocktail works to keep the juices flowing, ... or is it the unearthly juices flowing in relation to it? Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Maybe it was the little blue pill that he suggested I continue taking, so I did. Why I feel this was is unclear , only to say that there are so many possibilities that it could b caused by. And then again, in a casual retort that makes no sense whatsoever given the context, they always ask me if I'm serious, and I say yes! It was therefore further, and rather coldly stated, that the last great emphasis is the create something out of the nothingness which we all experience. For boredom can seep into the cracks of every existentialist strife and stray chunks of MOOP of the soul that invades our daily thought patterns that boil within. As I looked on the chart, however, the MOOP pattern around my home camp was quite influenced by the distribution of debris from the blasted wind and DUST. Forever it will be given an opporunity to come out and glisten in the false daylight of our lights within our collective unconsciousness.

what is it that makes him do it?

Reet — Thu, 06 Dec 2007 01:15:15 GMT

Who is it and why does he persiss in doing these things, if only for the pure pleasre of the colorific interactivity that arises when the emotive brushes swipe the gritty surface in deflection of their patterns that make the collage on the canvas dance like a crowd full of people who might likely arise if only I was able to be a good self-promoter. And again we must ask why, why she did it, and why it makes me do this. Forever will be this question, as the colors collide and the paint intermingles, dancing around the color wheel, spinning like a hippy chick at a Dead show. Of course, the acid is now neutral and it wan't that strong to begin with, so the cerebral hydrochloric circumlocution that create the pigments of my vomit's perception, actually wind up on canvas and for that reason, it is called 'Art.' Art is Life after all, and what more lifelike of a substance to make a first impression on society's gazing eyes wide shut on the half moon's starlight. Even if there's another big hoo-hah that night that everyone else is going to, the fact is you will be missing out on the the last great moments of the futures past.

"again and again, why?" she asked...

Reet — Sat, 08 Sep 2007 17:54:07 GMT

My my my, over and over, again and again. For this morning when I cried like I can't remember how to feel about it any more and it all fell apart, without the moisture and glue she once thread through the energetic vibrations of our intertwined souls. When it was over the feelings were still there and in the shadows of the lines of dust sitting before me, painted in the desert floor with the bloody remnants of her menses from that night when it happened, unbeknownst to all in the house. So she became enamored with his beguileling trophy, the first removed therapeutic agent of my last greatest moisture-laden partner in crime. My soul aches again and again with every ring and every unanswered message. Truly, it becomes clear that to have others say she said that you should stop, yet you can't make him stop trying to get into her if for only one last time to rub out the chafed memories of the broken stockings that created the pantslessness that brought on the end of the end of the juicy again and again and again and again. The point is clearly again and again to not only shoot myself in the foot, but to do it again and again. Instead, to only sit here and feel the pain again and again and again and again. it hurts and I can't feel it anymore either. That is to say the only time I really wanted to feel something I was rendered incapable of the adulations of my mindfulness and disaster, choking with the last chicken in nothingness, forever by myself with nothing to lose to gain everything without my fortunes of my last great entry in this worldly endeavour.

So this time, she went too far?

Reet — Thu, 06 Sep 2007 13:38:53 GMT

In the wake of the dust, I can honestly say that it should've been expected, at some point that things would turn out this way. But honestly, folks, for her to just give it up so consciously, conscientiously, then come back to our wearily tethered shelter, and smile at me, say good night to him with a glance, and lie next to me like the cold fish in the night, the morning, the next day and forever and beyond? And she even said she was thinking of me or something like that, so conscious in fact that she had to do it publicly so that everyone knew about it and what I really wanted to do, yet I can't therefore be abashedly truthfully dysfunctionaly erect. So in response to the first time that I have felt this type of bizarre pain, knowingly, so crass, yet semi-interrogatory, and deservedly so, I must throw up my arms and continue to struggle with hervoice. I shall not give up, for that is what she wants of me. While the dopey Aussie guy smiled and said g'day, and the other cheezy lines that she fell for, she let him put his shrimp in her barbie, so truly sadly, though it could have been me, had I only smiled into the depths of her eyes because only I was the one who could not do so earlier. I blame it on the Dust Storms. By that Saturday Night, pantless, it was a separately focused internal journey into the arson of my last great soulmate. Right then, it also became obvious that there was nothing left to lose. He so brutally pounded her pink prettily perched perfunctorily in the Victorian setee at the window box, she gave up that precious box and let me know that she no longer gets wet when she sees me. In fact, i do absolutely nothing for her at all in that regard. And although I truly want to be at peace and there is a point where I could be okay with this all too. Multiplicities of these feelings are complicated, and still, I am not there yet. We are not there yet. In the end, what matters is that I just want to be the number one, and have her let me know that too. And vicev-ersa and likewise, I'm sure, er whatever. Am I hearing voices? echoes of the past? why did she choose to make those decisions now instead of later? Without nothing more to say i am drawn to the withdrawn warmth and the dry moistness longing for it's sweet return. Yet, she was cold as a fish, self-righteously self-smugly intertwined with my last serenade and thus she bade me farewell. The burnt tableau said it all, I think, she said.

Wide open spaces, dawn in the desert

Reet — Wed, 22 Aug 2007 03:38:08 GMT

The first item on today's agenda is to get home, get ready, be prepared and become fully self reliant upon which the first agenda's last response is to make something happen while nothing gets in the way. The fact is, I'm well under way to become independently thoroughly without limitation in the world, for I can conquer anything and without the slightest bit of effort, only being myself with a few minor alterations,as is the normal modus operandi of my existence. The third item was lastly placed begrudgingly without hesitation. And, alas, the art car is not ready, not will it be for many days an months, the playa must wait or this creation, for it will take lots of time. And, alas, I will have shelter from the wind and the dust and the heat and the sun. Is it possible? Only with frequent flyer miles and a little bit of stubbornness combined with dumb luck.

Enamored interlocutory confabulations of the interpersonal nature?

Reet — Tue, 07 Aug 2007 03:33:17 GMT

Forever we desired to create some kind of new space, and for once i think we were able to achieve something approaching the first of many types of similar circumstances.Wherein lies the dilemma: to which end is this leading? Is it an open-ended question? is there an answer and is it perceptible to human kind? is it perceptible to aliens and if so, from which planet? Mars? Venus? For that, I must consult the third person's alter ego and consult with the goddess of The natural inter-agency pheromonicalogicalization controls. The scent of dissatisfaction does not only come without lieu-bricating or eau de toilette but also the thoroughly open-faced sandwich that was her pie of choice. At least last night anyway... The and result is something resembling an ecstatically-charged sexually implicitly topless and then some without borders or angles on the best view from the camera. The visions that result are only to be perceived by the imagination's third eye lodged slightly to the left of center on your forehead.

realistically, she suggested, it won't work

Reet — Mon, 02 Jul 2007 14:51:24 GMT

Like it was in the days before, and so it was again. In a flash, she left and it was over. Kaput. Finito, Zero Zilch. Things were left in a shambles, we cried a river, together for our last wish was only to be left in one another's arms once again into eternity. However, the crude fact of the matter is that it was messy. So messy in fact, that it was only to be cleaned up by armor-all and bleach-ladened spray cleaner that i accidentally spread over the viscous surface of our year and more. It is thus how I became intuitively connected to its atomical origins within the space and time continuum. For the first matter of discourse, it was determined that there was to be none other than the first maternal cousin thrice rmoved lengthwise and laterally within the clan of the big bear basin, atrocities of which were never revealed to the likes of the white man. And so it became thus, eternally without meaning and nothing to make sens of it either, for once we said there is nothing to do and nothing to ask about so why even bother waking up to experience it?

i abandoned my rv in the desert

Reet — Sat, 26 May 2007 13:38:09 GMT

if you want an rv and are willing to offer me a measly $1000 or so for it (or trade me something fun and interesting), it is in 29 palms, ca ... i left it there with the mechanic and i can't deal with it. it's still got some life left in it. it just needs to be cleaned up and fixed up, and made roadworthy. it runs, but isn't safe to drive really right now. it's at the national park automotive and you can go there and talk to the guy and give him some money to give to me and he will give you the key and i will send yo the title. great for burning man this year - fix it up (it needs about $250-1200 to get it going again) and get to the playa this year while recycling an old rv and saving a fortune on a rental. make me an offer!

So if we're still looking, then when will we find it?

Reet — Sat, 03 Mar 2007 05:23:57 GMT

The fact of the matter is, there is nothing more than something else between here and there and the first rule of thumb is the cognitive heuristic which we all know and love, that includes our perceptive apparitions within a timely framework of ideas, patterns of remembrance, and lost and forgotten memories. There is very little to talk about whenever we get together, but the thing is, we don't mind the silence, for it is a great comfort within the moment to be able to say something without actually saying anything of consequence, or even anything audible for that matter. Why then, is there a persistence of memory within our severed head's ability to recall several blips of information that were never processed in a deep or thoughtful way, and therefore were not given enough significance to be placed within the patterns of rehearsal that create memories. The neural firing is the best way to explain the nastiest creation that there has been here in our first cryptic septic tank that contains our refuse. Foremost is the satori, or the aha experience that we felt when we said it contains a drip of neurotransmitter that makes us somehow create more dopaminergic receptors that process the speed at which we want to travel within out mind's gaze to the other end of the neural tether that adjoins another synaptic cleft in the ethereal space between the alyers of the decision tree that made us stop.

Until then, the answer is still maybe

Reet — Fri, 09 Feb 2007 09:49:25 GMT

Why do we persist in creating this stupor again and again, every night without regards towards the greater end of things, For what end is this life, she asked me, and then I said again, "I don't know, honey." I'm sure that one of these days I'll figure it out. For once, I said she thought I had a good idea for once in my lifetime, that is only until the first creation of the nuclear fisssion and thoroughly interogated thoroughfare of knowledge that spews from the greater emination of the first emoprorer's grand tutorial that includes lessons on how to be proper. The first order of business today is to create nothing but the truth beteween you and your first born children and gather your enemies so close that you cannot create anything but greatness in return for theirmoral torpitude and self grandiosity that inludes nothing other than the first amendment's false truths that include everyone and excludes nothing. For what end is the first one of that type for? Of or for what end does it makes sense to draw a sword? Until that point, and henceforth, however, the only way to finally know the way of the land is to be with it and create nothing more than the first level of insanity within the smoldering solitude's giant chaise of this atomic centrality's bosom, yes, the greatest comfort of them all: La Piece de resistance, a lunatic's style offering none other than the last sentence in a fiery trail of tears that includes everyone and excludes nothing. And then, the ever lasting unity is within us and we must let it out from there, for it is yearning to be free in the greater universe among all of the other flowers of fruits of freedom. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, and I said that you must do something about it once and for all !

A myth of great proportions:

Reet — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 02:58:02 GMT

If we believe in nothing, something is bound to happen. Similarly, if nothing were to persist, then something would emerge. It therefore follows that it makes sense to throw out my grand fortunes into the wandering pocket of some uninformed individual, and, most importantly, without even throwing any salt into the wind of caution. Frankly, because it is true that he said, and she said that they think we should really get down to business. And by that, I mean rather the more legitimate aspect of the equation, for which I can tell my friends' parents about and not blow it. Throwing caution to the wind is a phrase which means something to someone, yet somehow, its meaning completely eludes me, the most important person, and the main reason for it's existence. For them, the answer come from from neither the devil's advocate, nor the naysayers, ... all of them, in fact,... and nobody - including he said and she said - is screaming to do something. Those are just the voices. I head them say anything, ...as long as it is legitimate. By that, they mean nothing more than within the scruples and boundaries of society that have been inspected and placed into the hands of those unbeknownst to me, or the awaiting jail cell. The fact is, I've already been there. Five times more than I need to in fact.

Waiting for a miracle

Reet — Wed, 03 Jan 2007 02:03:58 GMT

I spent the entire day waiting for somehing to happen that didn't with nothing but built up expectations, half truths, partial answers and incomplete sentences. In fact, this seems to be a pattern of mine that I need to reverse. Instead of waiting for it, I can go to it. Get up off your ass already and show some initiative for god's sake! The first and last noun in this complex phraseology includes nothing but semantic sophistry laced with inanity and gridlocked lines until next year. The first day of the last meaningful lesson in laziness begins with the last entry into the diary of today's first rule of business at hand.: Do not talk about anything even remotely related ot that, regardless of the pressure mounting on the fault lines of your soul, waiting until the second way of the middle path. I'm waiting, she said. I agreed, and decided to just go over to her.

Without the purpose, there is nothing

Reet — Wed, 13 Dec 2006 10:45:42 GMT

Why do we forget to erase the memories of yesterday when we cannot seem to remember what happened only seconds ago? If I read it, then it does not exist. That is the nature of my illness, or so it seems, without the ability to focus on anything but myself and nothing else but myself, in fact I might as well just continue to expound on the possibilitites provided by the empty space that was acually, in fact, upon further inspeciton worse than yesterday's lunch, that I forgot to eat... only because I didn't get up in time and after she bought it for me, mind you, and not that I wasn't hungry, or because it was something that I couldn't accept as such a wonderfully prepared donation to my inner soul of existential bliss. The eternal truth remains that it is nothing more than a first impression and a second interrogation into the assailant's first question that the defendant asked in yesterday's deposition. I tell you, though, actually, there was no other choice. And the judge agreed. That was because the first one decided to quit the job and therefore it happended without hesitation and at a cost of only a $1.50 parking fee plus three dollar bridge toll plus gas for the saab. At that point, I was free to be me, asn the second question didn't matter. At that pont, I regressed into childhood's pretecive custody of the first degree: that is sustainably regressing into dependency's first cousin: addiciton. "Whatever, bro!" she said.

The confusion ceases to amaze...

Reet — Thu, 30 Nov 2006 03:16:29 GMT

Who made the way to create to elusive and illusory and elementarily influenced by the lesser of three evils that do not inlcude the western superpowers that made no sense or had little bearing to reality. The truth finally comes out... She refused to submit to testing and medication was therfore ineffective. In fact, that's the worst thing to spread into the apostate devolutionary symptomatic desultory convivial junta. I also like to gossip and chat about the emptiness, creating the illusion of having a strange journey... Again, she will not want to remorsefully shun the way to return to a former state of sickness and delusion. Respectfully taken into the section of the only way to become was the best sway of having the solution to the conflict and combination of focused efforts to continue. Why then is the only reason to continue this the one that I found to be the only way to make it happen tomorrow or today of whichever way the next answer came out to be.

Who What Where When Why and more stories...

Reet — Thu, 23 Nov 2006 05:25:33 GMT

The first thing is that it is clear that it is obfuscated and mired in illicit and infantile illusory delusions of grandeur that include nothing more than rants and raves about the meaninglessness of everything witout the absence of an eternal truth. In fact, I said she said that I think she thinks that there is nothing more to talk about. Period. When in fact there is nothing further from the actuality of the delivered events upon the time of arrival, I said, she asked, and I reiterated... agains espousing my positional stance of interoogatory interfactualization. It was the first answer that came out of my mouth, actually. That was my intention... The truth of the matter is that nobody will ever know for what we perceive is but an evanescent vision of color and perception fastened to the rims of celluloidal connective tissue and horn-rimmed glasses within the architecture of a new pardigm. Hyphen - the real one is totally weird and nothing is the further from reality. End of Story.

I think, therefore it must be

Reet — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 23:25:23 GMT

To which end is this going? I want to get into something even more outlandishly, anachronistically, unrealistically, intelligently benign, with room for a fabulous release. I want more of this stuff, whatever it is, and I don;'t care if it isn't illegal. Because that is they way it should be - uninhibited and fun, without any other regards other than the carnal and the compositional elements that it entails. The first time, she said yes, and the second time she said no. So, which one is it? Why didn't we go there? Will it hold my attention any more, for it's all just a fleeting fantasy of convoluted emotive statements that includes grunts, and coohs and ahhhs and the like. I must continue to search for it, that erotically charged momen in which it all comes to bear: The spiritual relsaseof flesh that includes the milk any honey and the manna from heaven in one magical moment of effluvient motion.

Interesting Choice. Intelligent Decisions.

Reet — Fri, 29 Sep 2006 19:55:21 GMT

The fact of the matter is that everything is a choice within a choice. Self-discipline, is thus and elusive concept, aprticularly whenever there is an autonomic arousal factor involved in the mix. Without this, there is very little to talk about, and in fact, we might as well fuggedaboutit. For that reaons, thus, we must therefore transgress our remnants of forgotten pasts memories of hate and sorrow and throw ourselves into the best posible light and shout at the top of our lungs, "Hurray, for it is true and we are all alive and well!" Unitl then, we will find the answer to be hidden among many layers of mucous, layers of garbage, syringes, straws, ash and soot and sort through the remaining leftovers from the burn. That was the bigest flame that I've ever seen. That was the most interesting festival and the most outrageous use of my time that I could ever conjure. It was so free and open, yet only about certain things. The flames were large. The desert air was refreshingly clear from dehydrating properties. instead, it was nourishing and quenching for the mouthful of stimulants, hallucinogens, and ignoble half-truths we were forced to swallow. Unlitmately, we must ask, "Do I really need to be rehabilitated?" " Do I have the ability to eschew the temptations and desires of the world that co-exist in our realm with such frequency and intensity? Where is the key to the self-discipline? Please tell me, ma'am, oh dear, kind sir... Are you the Key Master? Are you the universal Eros Earth Spirit, the Guru from Gozar?"

Forever for real, this is it

Reet — Sun, 27 Aug 2006 01:00:04 GMT

Hi there. What is the meaning of it all and why do we always have to buy in bulk to save money? The truth is the market is tight and there is only so much room for improvement - especially this time of year. At which point, the father is always right and there is no answer to the question that nobody wants to ask. The first rule of the game is to not talk about it. The second rule is to understand that festival life is the way of the living truth-seeking quest for ultimate reality, and the only clear path towards enlightenment. In summary, let me reiterate the fact that there is nothing going on between me and her and that is the way I stand. Whenever they ask, the answer is always going to be cruel, regardless of the truth. Or is it? Is it really like that this time around? What is the reason we come to conclusions such as this without enough information to make the epistemological a.k.a. the sacrificial lamb of truth.? I digress to the solo pracdtitioner of the northern light - the shining spirit of bright daylight amidst torrid darkness. Today, we make whoopee. Tomorrow we work.

Thoroughly interrogated

Reet — Fri, 14 Jul 2006 14:20:09 GMT

When I arrived at my faithful vehicle, it was surounded by cops. It turned out the sandwich shoppe ladies thought we were loitering a litle too hard and assumed we were planning on casing the joint. Little did she know how much of the truth is actually real, yet how little she was aware of the truth. Do I really look like a criminal?. No, of course we weren't going to case the joint. But then again, we could have. The truth of the matter is that I am confused. I don't know whether it's better forwards or backwards, upwards or downwards. All I know is that I am having too much fun, and it is all the fault of the surfboard in the summer of love. Thefactis that she is the only one that is worth pursuing. She does have all of the necessary ingredients for a savegely good time. So if I make the choice, it will be with glee and guttoral laughter. Hah-ha, she said. Not very funny.

THIS TIME, IT'S FOR REAL

Reet — Thu, 22 Jun 2006 22:59:27 GMT

The first time that we enter the world, we are impressed upon by the universe, by our brain's theoretical and physical perceptions writ large in the movie theateres of our minds. It is therefore to be noted that there is no reality. Because what it is that we perceive is but an ephemeral blip in the convoluted universe within, it is nothing more than the sum of the parts of catecholamines, GABA, and that preciously selective;y affective serotonin and other neurotransmitters that create the sensations. For these reasons, therefore, it follows that nothing ceases to exist, nor does is commence it's own existence without the notion of the mind entering the sphere of influence. It follows that mind is not body and body is the sum of mind. Thus it is all in the mind. I t really is all in our heads. It really is the only way to get to know anything, that is to say perception - it is the answer. So from now on, whenever we perceive anything that comes by our perceptive pathways throughout time is nothing more than a phenomenological moment in time and space that does not actually exist. For that, the answer is zero, or empty set.

Frontal Lobe Contortions

Reet — Tue, 06 Jun 2006 21:50:21 GMT

Deluded reality, the FMRI scan in the bus wires. THEY know what you are thinking. That is such fascinating technology, she agreed knowingly. "And, my what concept," she then exclaimed. "That would make an interesting topic of research. MUNI and the VA Hospital should team up. It is thoroughly amusing what the mind can come up with. Such collisions of hubris thrown together willingly in your mind's eye can only reveal secrets unbeknownst to man in the minds of the possessed. Interrogations of the first person are usually indirect crimes committed by the third party's lurid energy. What is the first and foremost rule of project Mayhem. It is "Do not talk about Project Mayhem!!!" I said, please refrain from talking, or even thinking about the top secret Project MAYHEM. It will only yield unfavorably morose yet absolutely divine results.

Old Trees, Spiritual Desert

Reet — Thu, 01 Jun 2006 09:47:15 GMT

Blogging about life for 1500 years is fun, just like the redwood trees that we sat under the whole weekend. And it was fun. More fun than what it was meant to be for that was the answer, and the source of divine inspiration. It is necessary. I have been spending a lot time around old trees lately -- in fact Joshua Trees are the second oldest stand of trees out there - both are located in California - a place of divine inspiration. Or is it New York. When is the answer that we sheek to find and how shall it reveal itself? Through our own divine inspiration, she said. These are days of comfort and joy and there is comfort and joy in those moments. It is a learned skill to be able to transfer these feelings into a reality-based equation. Can you do this, or should I? When will the avant-garde finally learn that they cannot change the way of things. It is better to be subversive than to never try to conform. Without the pulpous giants of reddened barky flesh, there would be no moss. And it therefore follows that a rolling stone gathers no moss. Where do you want to go from here?