Funky realistic minnows at this depth.
Head hurts. Neurontin.
Stranded on the shore where I can no longer hear the miracle, only intuit. I do not know directly the meaning of the sand, or of mouth full of seawater. I can only remember knowing.
Direct plugin disconnected.
Smith is in the next room, and I cannot discern if it seems to be in relation to my thoughts. He makes coffee.
Universal mind is capricious with the typos, or maybe it’s just me.
I am the tap tap tapping of universal mind. My keyboard taps out a message to the universal mind. My eyes tap out a vision. My ears tap out a song. My nose taps scent.
Mandy cat walks gently in as though to remind me of her epiphanies from the God-concept.
I am a good worker. I am not making art. I am useless sometimes. Sometimes I am useful.
I am trying.
I will run and I will get mauled by circumstance.
I feel abandoned by the God concept. But I am a greedy little Christ. I need reassurance for everything.
I need to remember hope and expectation and how I created this catastrophe.
I created Global Warming. I created the Bush Regime. I created everything.
The eyes and tympanies of butterflies and birds remind me of what was created by the perceivers who perceived before belief–just drop of leaf.
I would be a prophet, I would. I would write a beautiful algorithm for the God concept.
My algorithm would be an account of the raw awful beauty and redemption.
Lady