Forgive my stream of consciousness that flows from my synapses like the effluence of a perpetual mental virgin.
This is mind diarrhea.
It hurts to even look at these words. Imagine having thought them into existence. What a world.
It's obscene and cruel to subject anyone to such travesty of insanity.
It's truly a crime against all humanity. An affront to existence from beginning to end.
The very obscure nature of some of the random oddities of what I have penned only adds to the sheer veering madness. A sane human pretends.
In fact some of this stuff starts to make frightful sense the more you read. Some things seem vaguely connected, a rose growing in weeds. A chaotic delightful catastrophe.
A lackadaisical pachyderm ignores it's disregarded elimination that clings to the bottom of it's hoof.
It's the retro regurgitation of the simple. A spoof.
The spilling of the blatant thought form, being mindless and overflowing with thought at the same time, moment by moment. The anti-norm. Both categorically false and unbearably true.
Did I mistreat the rhythm and neglect rhyme?
Watch you'll see. Watch only me. Watch probably.
Watch my privates pee.
Imagine my watch was on backwards and upside down. Could you still tell the time if I were falling through the ground, head over heels as I drown in a singularity?
I try to imagine I have on a watch facing my skin. Could you face me again, then?
Now a practice in intellectual futility.
I want you to try not to think about a monkey made of lightning bugs because your sanity depends on you avoiding my imagery.
These words are like wall spikes giving tight hugs.
If you feel your swollen mind slipping just try to keep griping the monkey made of glow worms. Then the lightning bugs fly apart in all directions.
There is no meaning. No real intersection.
The luminous monkey always existed as much as it did before I created it in your mind, but now it is loose.
It likes to leave imaginary banana peels lying around your brain, inside the dome that's now it's home.
When you find yourself struggling to find a memory or when you lose your train of thought, it will be because of the firefly primate that's on the lam in your psyche.
Your only hope is to read on if you might, because I know you can still see a monkey made of a 1000 tiny fires in the night.
Did I get you get there?
I was told by my brain to say all that. But now you're up to bat. See if the glow worm monkey is still hiding under your hat mat.
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I find automatic writing helps with my mania.