Because of Loopy Feelings, Brainless Ramblings

Late last night, I took a look at some of the stuff I had written over the summer. Most of it was written in August, when I tried to reform my sleep schedule by getting up at 9am everyday. I should have known how hard it was going to be, and I've never had a lot of faith in my ability to change without external motivation anyway. And the reward for getting my sleeping habits on track was this: an optimistic mood that I might feel. That's a vague and stupid reward. Plus, trying to change behavioral patterns is an awful idea for a person who prides himself on never deviating from a personal code of arbitrary limitations. And staying up all night is really fun.

So, I got up at 9 everyday, but I also went to sleep at 5am every night. Altering your sleep schedule doesn't work if you're not sleeping very much. It just leads to brain ghosts and foggy journeys of low grade suffering.

Tension and mental unrest were my companions. I felt dizzy all the time, a nervous breakdown wasn't entirely out of the question, and I had intense cravings for hoisin sauce.

It turned into a horrible failure of a time, filled with panic attacks that eventually lead me to seek therapy - but that's another story.

Here are some slightly edited paragraphs and poems written during that period. Slightly edited because the raw material scared the Polish right out of my DNA...



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boom boom!
bath house poundings
bam bam!
human growth in a foul place





Poltergeists threw up inside my van. My van is your van. Poody poody hoo! Do as I say! I will ruin you! Suck my cocks! Do you suck dicks? Do. You. Suck. Dicks?

Farts smell bad. She gots lots o’ cousins. Can I have some pills, please?

Sylvester has a ball containing the meat of splendor. What fury it must arouse!





Heed this: Once the destruction starts and the lumber crumbles, it will be easier to find a mate who is more afraid of the end than you. Calm that person and take them underground where the sun is collected through stories and rumors.


Gun black glistening night.
Satisfied smoke.
Is sister alright?
No.
Sister is dead.
Long live the smoke from
father's gun.





Shit, I gotta go, man. I just microwaved my Sega.