Soup of Stupefaction

I saw this hole in my mind.

I peered, then crawled, into it. I disappeared. Now, I'm stuck. I cannot get out. I cannot get my bearings in this place.

What can I do?

Everywhere I turn, there I am. Again. And again. Nothing but me meeting me in my meness. Somebody told me once that this could happen, but I could not believe it at the time. Now I know for sure that it's true. There is this darkness that swoons and swarms all around me like a soup of stupefaction.

Not "satisfaction", but "stupefaction", the state of being stupified. Stunned. Dull. Lethargic. It's astonishing and annoying. Nothing but me.

Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.

Novels I have written and lost

...include the following titles:


(1) The Dandy of the Drainspouts

(2) Spurious Mosaics

(3) The Road to Chanel du Mar

(4) Visit to the Illumination Center

(5) The Haunted Toilet

(6) Vampire Hotel

(7) Sorrowful Phantoms in the Dead City

(8) Faces from Nowhere

(9) Genetic Reactivator 9-12

(10) Headless Soldiers and Other Micro Tales




I also am currently working on
two scientific academic works:


(1) Fake Instructions on How to Almost Write an Instant Classic Novel

(2) False Vision of the Future of Computing and Remote Sense Reality

And a new novel, created via a blog utility: sleialgnion.






======================================================

[not really or is it?]----me----

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

cure for cancer

Hello.

I just discovered a cure for cancer.

Brought permanent peace to the Middle East.

Ended world hunger.

Put a stop to all wars.

Eliminated global poverty.

Made a killer music CD.

Wrote an instant classic novel.

Forced everyone on earth to fall in love with me and my opinions.

Became the most handsome man who ever existed.

Got certified Most Intelligent by all the intellectuals.

Transformed all ugliness and mediocrity into beauty and excellance.

Pleased to meet you. Hope you guessed my name.

The Anti-Christ, Anti-Buddha, Anti-Socrates.

blah blah blah, etc.

blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

this is what most personal drivel blogs sound like.

blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog.

no relevance. no benefit to others. no interesting anecdotes to make you laugh or make you smarter.

just...

blah blah blah blah blog blog blog blog blog.

And, to make matters worse, the text is usually in long dense paragraphs, no paragraph breaks until about twenty six sentences string out and give you a headache.

Why do so many people think their boring lives are worth blogging about? Must be nuts.

I did not lose anything

Today I lost my focus.

Lost my hocus pocus.

Today I lost a wing.

Today I lost a thing.

When something vanishes, it takes something from the inside of you out, it harvests an internal sector, robs you of more than just itself, something else, somewhat other, a piece of you vanishes along with it, that part of yourself that was related to, interacting with, the external object you lost.

If we lose many things all at once, as often happens, much of the self seems to be hijacked, erased, stopped.

As the former sense of self slows down and recedes from center stage, who can be really sure what will replace it? A better or worse version of you? What are you when a certain thing is no longer there to define and shape a segment of you?

We have no idea how attached we are to something while attached to it in a normalcy mode. But when it changes or departs, we know everything all of a sudden, the shock hits us like a bullet with a frowning face.

When loss occurs, the self, the entire personality becomes hardened and strange, becomes other, becomes what it could never have already imagined or avoided.

The odd geometry of psychology solving hidden problems deeply within.

I did not lose anything.

going for his knife

I lived in the Chelsea Hotel one day in the late 1980's, around 1988.

I was in a punk-noise-electronic band, CAMOUFLAGE DANSE, and my girlfriend Vava Vol and I stayed there one day and night.

I wanted to record a "Live at Hotel Chelsea" performance of my band there. But stupidly, I didn't force the guys to do it, but I regret it now.

Sometime in near future, if there is such a thing as near and future combined, I wish to do a solo electronic music show there, in a room at the Chelsea Hotel.

:*)

Friday, October 07, 2005 1:17:41 PM
Delete
Zafufilia said...

Buddha and Plato... Isn't that like tequila and kahlua?

Sunday, October 09, 2005 4:27:28 PM
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Zafufilia said...

I work in that area. However, I have not been by there in twenty years. And I've never been in it. I'd meet you there to make a record though...

One of my favorite movies of the '80s is Sid and Nancy, which depicts her demise at the hotel. I am fascinated by the way Chloe Webb says "Siiiiiiiiiid.... But SSSsiiiiiiiiid."

Sunday, October 09, 2005 4:31:25 PM
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Steven Streight said...

My band CAMOUFLAGE DANSE, music of which is now available in an album "Our Sound", which I will try to feature as an audio blog here at Vaspers the Grate, was more everything than Sid's.

After I saw SID AND NANCY film in a midtown NYC movie theatre, I accidentally bumped into a guy walking down the street holding a martini, which I had inadvertently sloshed by stumbling into him.

I mumbled some apologetic text, then he, not hearing it or thinking it sufficient, started to get smart with me, complaining about the sloshing of his beverage, and reaching for his back pocket.

That meant he was going for his knife.

Sunday, October 09, 2005 4:53:44 PM
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Marmot tonight

I saw a huge marmot tonight as I was mowing the lawn.



I had just finished with the front, and was walking around the backyard, removing sticks, when suddenly: there it was.




Lumbering down the far side of my backyard, headed for the stream down in the woods. It stopped when it noticed me looking at it. I yelled something friendly at it, and it lumbered off a little faster, disappearing in the creek.



After the shock of unexpected discovery and encounter wore off, I began to assess my danger. It looked to be about 2 1/2 to 3 feet long and nearly a foot wide. And I had no weapon nearby, should it decide to act mean or scared, and turn to attack me. I was sure I could not kick it to death. My situation was bleak. I returned to the front yard to get the reel mower.



Who knows where it is, what it's doing, what it's thinking now?



I might look around the property with a quartz halogen spotlight and see if I run into it again. I'm sure he's as curious about me as I am about him. Maybe the rodent, commonly known as a hedgehog or groundhog, hog I guess because of its size, a cross between a brown wood squirrel and a giant river rat.

The marmot. Tonight. ?

25 breakfasts

I can't even say it.

Try it.



Say "twenty five breakfasts".

Are you catching yourself saying "breakfastes"?



How can you vocally indicate the word "breakfast" is plural?



This is the problem that Acep was haunted by, and he could not stop worrying about it.

Also:

"Can one person rationally, or realistically, eat 25 breakfasts before lunchtime?"

"What time would that person have to wake up to accomplish this feat? What types of breakfasts foods would be involved, in what order?"

:*)

Things That Appear in the Bathtub

When things that appear in the bathtub, for no reason, just suddenly happen to be there, you know not how they arrived, nor from where they came, when they look like this...



...you're in a lot of trouble.

Space Athlete

Space Athlete: performs stunts in and around space stations, shuttles, solar wind gliders, satellite networks, orbital telescope arrays, surface exploration and sampling craft, and manned landing vehicles.



Can actually make needed repairs while performing entertaining tricks and dangerous acrobatic maneuvers. One little slip, and off you go into eternal outer space, with no hope of being rescued.





So read my personal ad, trying to find work.



An unemployed space athlete is not a pretty sight. We languish, wishing we could land a "floater", our term for "job", because we do a lot of floating as we make repairs and entertain spectators.



What nobody knows is that, between jobs, we also practice Eastern-style levitation exercises, just to stay loosened up for the next gig.

The problem is, now I've levitated too high, and, to make matter worse, no matter how hard I try, I cannot come down.




I was in my backyard, and it was really dark, so I dared to do some outdoor levitating. I rose rapidly, I'm sure no one saw me. But then I got stuck, and I'm using my wireless laptop, which I luckily had with me, to publish this post.



I figure if someone, an initiated riser, knows how to solve this problem, they can post a comment, or email me. I'm just hanging around, suspended against my will. Please, if you know the technique I need to implement, to override this default lofting, share that information with me.



About an hour ago, I was spotted by the police as I hovered sleepily near the top of the pine tree in my backyard. Gunshots abruptly snapped me back into a wide-awake state and a surly mood. They were firing at me.

Apparently, a human who can defy gravity is an anarchist who defies any other law he damn well pleases, according to these officers. Again with the gunshots. But I couldn't will myself down, I don't know why.

I seemed to be doomed to an eternal hover mode. Some mental mechanism has jammed. Morning will come eventually, soon in fact, and then everyone will be able to see me up here. This is not good. I'll probably lose my space athlete license: "reckless exposure of secret maneuvers" the report will state.

When I got far enough away from the cops, by swooshing horizontally to a spot behind a fussy clump of tall trees in the woods in back of my neighbor's bungalow, I upchucked my lunch all over a tree trunk, I was that upset.



Getting shot at is a very unpleasant experience, especially if you're on a guilt trip about your levitation skills being discovered by local policemen. I was hoping they didn't assume correctly that I lived in the house I was hovering above.



Of course, I'll deny it was me that was floating, if I ever come down and they interrogate me. I hate to lie, in fact, I almost never tell untruth, but in this case, what choice do I really have?

It sucks being trapped in a levitative dysfunction. There are no coffee shops, record stores, or bars up here. They're all down there, far below me.



This bites.





:^(

Lions and Tornadoes

Never.




I dreamt of both lions. and tornadoes the"irgw===night.


Lemons and torpedoes.

I dreamt: lions and tornadoes. All around {me}.



Then the, edging into reality, incognito, shadows: face to face with lions, then tornadoes. The lions won't leave me alone. I don't know why. They follow me, they're everywhere. Then the whole dream changes, or becomes another, and I'm in the path of a tornado, then a cluster of them. I gaze in awe at them, and the horror never hits me. Just awe at the power and the form.



Once upon a time, there was a hidden message in this story. The message consisted of instructions on how to build an elevator to the moon, twisting and wreathing its way from earth to the lunar surface, attached like a living appendage, causing a tide of its own, a pull, a grave situation of essentially unearthing earthies, turning any healthy human into an elevator-naut, an astro-vator aviator. This conveyance quickly becomes the recreational adventure of choice for all who can afford it. NASA and some construction and cable firms partner to bring you the ride of a lifetime, a cruise beyond anything ever imagined: honeymoon on the moon, then safely returned to earth.



The tornadoes are sudden onsets. Last night I dreamt I and my family were in the eye of a twister.




[They always seem the same as alien death rays.]



It, the steady vision socket of the storm, of the tornado, it was looking at us one last time, calmly, prior to killing us for sport.

Lions and tornadoes.



Tenderloins and tomatoes.



I eat them all.

I don't fear them.






They fall down for me.


.....

Buddha sitting in my computer

I was thinking of President Peppermint, Mint Mao, or Sweetness as a powerful political platform.

We were dreaming of a forever faraway future.

The Reign of Niceness.

A Land of Gentle People.




It would be like the day Buddha descended upon and sat inside my computer.




And I float away on universal waves of sealed lips and unspoken hearts.

Biff Storms Out of a Real Estate Closing

A lot of furtive whisperings and murmurings. "Are you going to tell him?" anf "Yes, I'll tell him about it."

Already, on the big event evening, the main event of the entire transaction, everything was about to unravel.

"This is going to be what we call a dry run closing", buyer realtor said.

"I don't like the sound of that," Biff mumbled silently to himself.

Seller realtor chimed in: "The previous owner, since he did make some house payments, needs to sign off on the deed. He hasn't UPS'd it to us yet."

Later Biff, who was trying to buy the bungalow, heard that the previous owner guy was at this moment on a lunch break, but he didn't know where to find a notary. You must understand sufficiently that Biff (but how would you know if you weren't specifically told?) had all his ducks in a row, meaning he was organized, complete, and punctual.

These professionals were in chaos, stacks of paper, and ears made to channel randomly flowing rivers of news, money, and news about money.

Upon hearing that the previous owner, as explained stiffly by the seller realtor, was unsure where to hurry up and find a notary, the buyer's agent exclaimed with a matriarchal majesty: "You can find notaries everywhere" and proceeded to declare examples substantiating her theory.

The seller's real estate agent reluctantly replied, "Well, I guess I could call him back and help him decided where to go to find a notary..." Real enthusiastic like. A poor show. Inappropriate response amongst sales and financing professionals and the consumer-client. Totally unacceptable.

Biff exploded.

"This guy is out there, if you know what I mean. Do I have any legal recourse if he balks and stalls on signing the deed and sending it to us? A real piece of work, this guy. And he's a liar."

Seller agent, tepidly: "I don't think he's a liar. What lies has he told?"

Biff: "First he claims the UPS package, with the deed in it, got to him late because there was no apartment number on it. Then he claims he has an incentive payment due to him, but the sale had to occur within 90 days, and the neighbor across has a very different version of the story of his leaving town in a hurry to go to Florida. Lots of details don't add up, so I figure we got ourselves a liar here."

Deed transaction professional, holding up a sheet of paper: "I put the apartment number on the UPS package. See?"

When Biff saw that the address was indeed on the packing slip, but far removed, for some idiot reason, from the rest of the address, so far it would easily not be noticed, he was done.

But then he also heard that the blood-stained mattress lying maliciously in the livingroom appeared there months after the previous owner had moved out. So Biff had been correct: it was a mattress that had been brought in by a drug addict who had a key or busted in somehow. Creepy.

"That's it," Biff bellowed, rising up out of the soft leather seat.

"There's nothing more I can do. I've signed everything. Now we have to wait for him to sign the deed, notarize it, fax us a copy, and UPS the original. I'm out of here. I've got other things to do, and I may have to cancel the insurance, movers, new furniture deliveries, changing the locks, appliance installations, internet broadband connection, and everything. I'm not paying a penny if all new papers have to be drawn up at the bank, with new interest rates calculated. This is ridiculous."

Biff stormed out of the meeting, bought a new pair of tennis shoes, and had a nice dinner in his favorite restaurant.

the first impersonal blog

This is the first
impersonal blog:

a blog that pretends to be personal trivia, mundane drivel, boring details of an uneventful life, but is possibly fictional, in part or in whole.

It must be this way.

If it were to be called a Personal Blog, people would wrongly conclude that I'm writing about my life experiences and things that fully happened.

If it were to be called Business Blog, people would be hoodwinked into thinking I was trying to sell something, or explaining how to sell somethings.

If it were to be called a Fictional Blog, people would incorrectly think this was all pure rubbish, flights of fancy, foolhardy fantasy, without a single bone or phone of reality within it.

It needed a new category.

Stinky Ugly Toys, the outcast castoff, in search of new territory.



Thus: the Impersonal Blog.

The next logical step after my Unblog: Jejune Jumpers.



Welcome to it:

Stinky Ugly Toys.


Things that almost, partially,
or possibly Happened.

Or maybe not.


:^)