It wasn't a clear black night. My mind split in eight different ways, like an octopus with tentacles hanging off the edge of a soup bowl. Partly escaping and partly dealing with being undermeasured by womb. There were deaths of thought blowing up and shrinking like explosions underwater, whole ideas left to fend the void of absent thought. It was that focus that was lost or being set free which is trying to become a bed of feather pillows. Comfort is outlaw and circus to the repository of ritual. Is repeating unnecessary under the vail of experience addiction, a pointless step shallowing the gift of understanding? Memory loss and stories highlighting the chant of youth. Disgusting youth, threatening and suspending the animation of drawn horses ready to plunge forward in the dark. Beautiful youth, seducing a hammock held taut by the thieves of weight and posterity.
On a different note, women have ruled long enough. No more concessions. Buck up.
I got new chapstick which rules.
Stan is everything good in the world. He's been neglected by the business of Josh's return. Poor guy, he'll get more recognition soon. He has no idea what's in store for him. His battery is dying. He doesn't have much longer. I need to think about his bucket list.
TENT
AXE
CAMPING CHAIR
MACHETE
AIR MATTRESS
PUMP
POCKET KNIFE
COOLER
WHISKEY
TOOL BOX
MEAT
WATER
VEGETABLES
THREE CAMERAS
BEER
CIGARETTES
FIREWORKS
I'm going camping, bitches!
Oh yeah...
BATMAN UNDERWEAR
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