Z

Spin up the wheels, it's time for a ride. Time to ride the crazy train on an express route through the alpenglow of your inner medula oblongata on and through your corpus collusum and into the collusem of the unseen collussus of your primitive sub-concious self. Welcome DAvid. Pick a nuber, take a seat and lets see how long of an eternity your chair will exist before losing its legs and becoming an primitive piece of art and general pedestrian hazard. Tripping isnt it. Onto your face. About face if it's a mirror. Mirrors on the floor. You wouldn't fall onto the ceiling. Unless you're into living on a ringworld or something with no floor. Last count though, asymptotic boundraries didn't hold much water. More like they flowed the ocean through the eye of a needle and left about as much of a grain of salt on the tiberian plains or dear Troy. Nearby to that city was another, in another time however. Greater, and forgotten today. It will remain so for times longer. OH I see the laundry is done. Which means cleanest of socks and new fresh furry terry-cloth fuzzies to populate the lint trap of the edge of conciousness or is it the dryer. Jim morrison couldn't get much higher. That though is a physical limitiation, man. The doors to perception, those are barn doors. That back 40 is a pretty good size and right right when those doors are swung open with teh hay a drying. May even be a bit of a breeze blowing. Like the kind of the yellow stubble fields of van gogh's frenetic nightmare waking dream of the walking dead. Like near on to there was this gas station which had maps to the edge of the state, but no furterh. Supposing though there will be another filling station a bit further on down. Eithe rin this state or next.