obeyaug

The Birth of Time.
So, I just ate some acid and now I sit here waiting for its effects to turn me on to the new taste of color and light. Waiting for a new meaning. The happiness and comfort of the third dimension. Large, bright, comical images. Orange liquids. I tried to think the other day and forgot about the risk involved with forgetting to think momentarily. Im trying to crawl west, towards the bright sun. Light, light, looking for light. My eyeballs grow, contract, feel. The White Album plays to the electronic surge of my brain function. My muscles feel warm, lose, weak. Noise has amplified and my ability to follow the sound in relation to its own physical existence has changed dramatically. There is an overwhelming sense of well being, complete and breathtaking. There is this black void to my left, my mouth tastes, breathing heavier, euphoric and euphoria. Amplification of the new vision, stereo minds. These strange items have been hiding and I could not find them. No where to be found. I will not close my eyes and I remain careful of not accepting an emotional sense of fear. There can only be a choice, twenty-four frames per second, no point in graphic articulation of this flashing light. There can only be a feeling of flow, a resistance to flesh bound weightlessness. It is all within the frame of mind. Ill bring it to my funeral, watch myself die, dying and he can do whatever the fuck he wants. Calling to call through electric signals. There is that void again, laughing. Completely overwhelming. Something is trying to release itself. The repetition of consequences echo through these hollow chambers. Foolishness from fastness. Dive into these cold waters. I must move carefully and not forget to breath. Mother rocks herself to sleep, slowly, successful organs work to move things right along. This page has blue ink as well, nowhere. The years within, the time, the long time. He was going to let me drive before I had realized everything was in color, grand neon techno-color! This huge whale, deep in the water, coming closer to me from the bottom of this endless void, I cant breathe again and I can hear his voice, deciding immediately to leave it behind. There seems to be an apparent lack of energy in trying to visualize populations and consider the infinite vastness of outer space. They can only hear sounds coming from upstairs, lost in this big, cold house. Find them, invite them, love, love them. A vision of memory exists only as the potential for relative thought. All humans are slaves to the burden of being born within the relentless mode of contemplating to never exist at all. Kids dont seem to associate animal noise with death and these cats are constantly victim to the liveliness of predatorily hunting, which finds them to be annoyingly reactive and light on their feet, so to speak. I keep pressing my nail into the tip of my index finger and the skin calluses, hardens from this continuing process. If there had been a resistence to patterns, there would not be rectangles everywhere, for everything. How many days have passed since I found myself existing within this present state of mind? Ive realized that because I played on the floor a lot when I was a child, that I know find myself sexually drawn to feet as the object in which I most readily associated power with my own mother. Things are melting down now, these feelings are cooling. Deceptive perception of the minds association and understanding of what is received though the optical apparatus of the eye. Im trying to practice good posture, starvation, and mild drug use. My legs tingle, my arms are weak, and I can feel my mouth again, my teeth taking shape underneath the oncoming intake of lights and sounds. My own brain, the consciousness of the self, to which I question whether or not I am my head or my body. Coming back from the haze of neurological deconstruction. Returning to the sobering conclusion that everyone becomes a caricature of delusion, laughing, and bitter cartoon objects. It fell slowly, without a heavy emotional engagement left behind and for awhile there I found myself disappearing into that void, that endless hole of uncertainty and vastly expanding consciousness. There was a voice speaking before, but now it is gone and I am undoubtedly alone. Everything is uncomfortable now, hurting and bleeding. I just want to wake up in the dirty street where my body died, stand tall and naked to begin my journey into the oceans of the Midwestern grasslands where I can sit atop a hill, watch buffalo graze, and let my body dissolve into the organic soil of the land, where I may finally rest comfortably in the warm shell of my mothers womb.