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St

Okay, all right, you lemon meringues. All right there, blinkin' catermashaw. I just finished finally reading that there Tom Robbins I was enforced, and now I'm stuck in manic mode and will throw it at you. You're asleep. You're very asleep. I can hear you breathing. I could email others I will email others I just feel I need to hit you with it first because it's your fault.

It gets me like this sometimes. Some work of thought grabs my curry baal and tosses it to a distant unformed catcher, and I have to move internally externally same same. Focus is for smallminded ethnocentric folks who assume that because the sky rotates above their heads there is some sort of universal dung beetle rolling it along. I was twitching in the last 50 pages or so. Sit up lie down shift leg twitch around. It was fun to watch if I was in a mood to be that controlled. Finished book. Paced for a moment. Set fire to a Kleenex. Decided on you. Granted, the decision was made for reasons of revenge, but any reason is a good raison d'etre.

The smell of success and fire is fading slowly. I selfcensor selfconsciously. Art is a release of any kind. Releasing thoughts. Releasing pain. Releasing symbolic sperm into the viewer's eyes and ears. Modesty forfend. The best watchers are the ones with the smallest gag reflex. I may have to take a pill. I may have to take a class.

I play with my slinky for a moment. Rub the lefthanded rubbing stone. Did I ever show you the lefthanded rubbing stone? Every now and again I touch it with the wrong hand and must wipe away the taint of it. Lefthanded rubbing builds a charge. Righthanded grounds the stone. Somepoint I'll condition myself properly. Build up enough of a charge that.

Writing as career. I've thought it before. I'll think it again. I won't do unless I do. I won't do... unless I see myself doing. Unless I build tolerance. Unless... unless I think some years go by. I'm not big enough yet. Haven't built myself enough. Time. Learning by doing. Haven't done yet. Time. Time. Time and time again.

We will assimilate ourselves. Borgterbation. Reincapitulation. Burkina Faso. I'm not trying to make sense here. You should know that. I'm expounding. I'm pontificating. I'm getting it out of my bloodstream and you should feel honored and thrilled instead of rolling your eyes like that. If you're not careful, I'll rent a steamroller. And then you'll be sorry. Steamrollers are expensive.

Should you get this, even if you don't Get it, which is fine. I even don't sometimes, and I'm watching from a better perspective. It all seemed to make sense at the time. Internal maundering. Crossed nasal passages. Crossed eyes crossed wits crossed synapses making an all new and interesting - Look! Three bald cubic zirconia!

Bedlam. Must go to bedlam. Am I winding down? Winding sheet?

Should you get this, I would appreciate a word of response. "Thames." That'll do. I just want to be appreciated. You don't appreciate me enough. Postivie reinforcement. Quotes will come some day. And a warning not to trifle with that fit to be trifled with. I do it for my public. And I'm being celebrated this weekend and another week on tomorrow and I'm gone to the land of cheeses and beeses. And maybe then I'll get my carpet cleaned. (This being a metaphor for doing my resume. Why?)

Ougadougo is the capital of Burkina Faso, better known as Upper Volta. I will win Jeopardy with this information. My geography instructor told me so.