Some more experimental writing from...yesterday.
Stoned. What first? Outside Jacuzzi, oh god I felt like I was flying. I could make my inanimate body dance like I was controlling a puppet. Dunked into a shark cage, a little intense, came up, back to the outside. The cool air had sensations of its own. Back down under, this time the cage is gone. This is to fight sharks. I gouge eyes, but behind me! Great blasts of jet, a shark trying to eat the back of my head. Fuck you shark, I'm out. Back to the surface.
Atoms vibrate in an infinitesimal sphere. Mind is like electricity that pulses it has a physics of its own. Music is the same, because it is sound, the clashing of atoms at the molecular level sending some other sort of particle or packet of energy in our direction. It recycles throughout, a sphere gradients...horizantal and vertical combined together with all things converging in and all things diverging out simultaneously, this is life, infinite. Time is circular. Time only exists conceptually. It is the moving of things outward maybe. And inward. Maybe I have fallen outward where thoughts can be grabbed out of the air. Perfect lucidity. Moments of clarity. Best high in a while.
The spider saga. Saw it fall off of a cliff. Senses sharp as hell, can hear the pulsing jets in the water, the water pushing against more water, parting, dispersing. Birds are jumping from twig to twig, making crashes that reach me across space. Finish the saga. It was meant to be. The sun coming through the fence. Essay writing. My arch foe, or one of them, the spider, falling into the ocean. Oh spider, you look black widow-y, like you might multiply and destroy. But no! I let him free, despite my fears. He crashed into the leaves. He is fine. I saved him. With a net.
It was a heavy train of thought, and I dropped it. That is ok, I am getting hungry. A white plane soaring overheard. Paper airplane pilots. Flying the same direction every time I look up. The triple elevens. This is a major convergence point. Now back to the experience. Gravity. Same idea. Ah, groovy.
Wii. Wii on weed. Wiid.
BIS: Boob Scene Investigation. Sleazy. Sleeze.
Ahhhhhhh. Introspection. Guilt. Crash down.
Everything is ok.
