2:

The Universe hits the bottom of the spine or the heart somewhere...n The I vomits..n The I sits contemplating: "what is this? who am I? why do I have a mind?"

1:

Being yourself is the noblest of fights!

While the sun was rising..

Strange memories on this cold Brisbane morning. Familiar faces, caught in a highly dramatized stage act, trying to say something. But why would those understandable people use theatrical metaphors to convey a message across? Why did it seem like a dream….hell it was a dream…but then why did it seem so real?

Maybe it’s not this instant, maybe not this one dream. Perchance it was being planned all the way by me and by them and by our synapses. Maybe what seems like a jolting moment of clarity on this cold Brisbane morning is a conception of reality from the deepest crevasse of my once-virgin mind…maybe not.

But, just like all those past ones, this dream as well dissolves in the flush of senses, gets washed away by the sudden rush of noises in the head. What chief Bromden might call the work of the fog machines. The moments could be intimate. So precious that one would pay a king’s ransom to spend a few more “moments” with them. But every attempt to record their gravity seems so outrageously futile; it’s like trying to catch an ever receding train with desperate hurl of limbs. By God, by the last chuck, one can hardly even see the train. But at first attempt, you know you almost caught it….almost climbed it…just almost..