when numbers fall out of place
2002-05-11 - 12:16 a.m.
Found this somewhere.
�how fast?
0.1 second for subjective instantaneous response;
1.0 second for maintaining attention;
10.0 seconds to ensure continuity of behavior�
May6. Relosing love on bipolar insomniac nymphomaniac girl. Smoked a clove, thinking about such things. I used to call it literal blasphemy, to alter my brain before/while writing. Altered states are now the norm. Did she ever, will she ever? There is no Right, in love as in war. There are only varied degrees of wrong, and the knowledge that Something needs to be done. Billions of people on this planet, all trying to avoid the same [mutual] reality. Secondhand and firsthand smoke at once, feeling the clove in my left hand, but it�s in my right. Eels on the radio in my head. Magnetic Fields. She did, maybe she still does; some small part of her brain. What part of the brain, dear doctor, contains the things we hide from ourselves? Or do I shave my head so I can�t tear my hair out. Rereading Razzmatazz, maybe for the last time. The smoke flatlines to the ceiling. People change. [It�s just a matter of the speed at which they do so.]
In hopes that sleep now, might come my way.
Confusing things. Japanese roommate has two different alarm clocks. They�re both set to the same time, and they both have the same noise when they go off. Volume included.
Friday, 2am. Get back to my room, go to sleep. 4am. Wake up, turn on my computer. Internet�s down. Phones are dead. Have been since around midnight, I found out later. 4:20am. Take a quick shower, head over to the dorm where public safety is supposed to be. Climb in through an already-open window to avoid the locked doors. Public safety isn�t in their office. Not in their cars. I found three of them out back by the library, shootin� the shit and watching the power company�s truck while other people try to figure out what went wrong. Gotta love the security protocols at this place.
Counting trains. The well-worn tracks of the thought-bugs, scrambling across the brain. Some trains are short, other are long...the average size being dependant on how much sleep was had, and how much weed was smoked. Another train of thought zips by, counting trains of thought, plus one. Suddenly, it doesn�t seem so odd that people collect train schedules from years gone past. The history of the changing network.
One-hundred twenty-nine forks from the cafeterium, and seven magic spoons [mistaken as forks on especially sleepy days].
I sat on the steps and thought. Half-lit-up EXIT sign. Sometimes, the things that one thinks can�t be expressed any better than can be by the things that one can see. Half-smoked clove cigarette. Why is it when you�re doing deep thinking, people always thing that something�s wrong? Or maybe there�s some logic in it after all, cogito ergo depressum est. Half-walk off campus...not really successful, not really failed. Halfway to being human.
And sometimes, while driving in places you never knew existed, you shout for the car to stop. Step out and look at everything closely. There�s something to learn here, something to remember. About the places you�ve never been. And maybe there is some truth in Theosophy, after all.
I leave college in one/two days, with nothing on my mind and no plans for what I�m about to do.
