I feel like my intellect is the only thing preventing me from diving headlong into insanity with utter abandon. Despite much evidence to the contrary, I am a fairly intelligent bag of meat and calcium, and my philosophical background ensures a certain level of logic and critical thinking. Thus I am able to identify and recognize much of this madness for what it is, a product of delusion and mental illness. So, on a logical level, I realize many of the things I think and feel are not “real,” in the sense that they are perpetuations of the sickness inside my mind. However, there is a very big difference between knowing something to be true on an intellectual level, and believing it to be true on an emotional, intrinsic level.
But then, another thought. Sure, I have certain manifestations of insanity that I can identify as such. But what of all the other things, the perhaps truly delusional things, that I don’t recognize for what they are, that I accept without question as “real” and “true” to my accepted understanding of “reality”?
This is Our World. There are many like it, but this one is Ours. Our sky bleeds purple, and god is a chimpanzee train conductor in a top hat who shits Jolly Ranchers and carries a flask full of children’s tears. His name is Roger, but that’s not even his real name. Or FACE!
Last day in The Meadows. Happy sadness. Miss me Dawgs!
Partially delusional with sleep deprivation. Unable to type complete sentences. Terrible vibes all around us. Are these my hands?!
Side Note! The Ryan + Meshuggah x 1200 mg Caffeine ^ Manic Moments = We may have broken something \m/..\m/
Conversations Held at Target (The CHAT):
Lady Jenn: “You need to get out more.” The Ryan: “But I don’t want to get out more.” Jenn Baby: “Your isolationism has made it so you have no idea how to interact with people.” The Ryan: “I interact with people fine. You just don’t like the way I interact.” Jenn: “You are ridiculous. I’m going to look at different stuff.”
Five minutes earlier…
Ry-Guy: “Baby! Check it out, I didn’t know they made Game of Thrones toys! It’s a tiny Tyrion Lannister. Well…tinier.” Child of Seven: “Look! TRANSFORMERS!” Seven’s Clan: “Kyle!” Ry-No: “Mine’s bigger.” Seven: “….” Clan: “Kyle…get OVER here.” *uneasy, wary glances*
Aaaaand SCENE! Fuckin’ Kyle, man…Fucking. Kyle. 😀
Perhaps 1200 mg of caffeine in a 90 minute period is too much. But I can hear colors (purple sounds like jet engines and bonfires) and it feels as though the Universe is coarsing through me in ecstatic trance, which is kind of cool. The downside is that I want to bury my brain in the crust of the Earth and use my spinal cord as a longbow in an epic battle with the piskies that have been invading my ear cavities and burrowing into my soul at night. I should probably drink less liquid insanity.
In just over an hour of milking the local library’s WiFi for all it’s worth on a manic, frenzied, stream of consciousness surf of the Interwebs of DOOM, I’ve managed to find a good two thousand dollars worth of vinyl and digital downloads that I am now obsessively longing to possess.
And ZERO fucking Dollars of DOOM. Wait a minute, though…do I really need two kidneys? This guy over here looks like he knows a few things about the black market vital organ trade…
Reason Number 5280 why I require “Adult Supervision.”
SWEET BABY JESUS.
Zappa Plays Zappa at the Brooklyn Bowl Las Vegas, you say?! I am so glad I didn’t sell my spare kidney for vinyl money earlier. Cuz I may need to sell that bad boy for Zappa tickets!
Or maybe I will just live here on the strip until April, making that good street money whilst perfecting my one-man “Ian Anderson Does Aqualung” solo performance routine, as well as gathering material for my “Post-Post-Apocalyptic Mutant Zombie-Stripper Waster-land Dia de los Muertos New King of Vegas Spiritual Saga Semi-Autobiographical Prophetic Novel”…
I just found out that the fucking fluoride they put in our tap water is petrifying my pineal gland and driving my subconscious deeper into the abyss! This is some motherfucking CIA mind control Illuminati social conditioning bullshit. I prefer my pineal gland to be nice and pliable and juicy, goddamnit! This is a fucking conspiracy!