tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-271557722012-02-16T11:07:47.385-08:00Trip Mckenzie, explorer, adventurer, sometimes even hero. Shame that he does not do much adventuring or exploring, but he thinks about it... alot! In his mind he is that hero, with nothing else on offer exploring himself as best he can, adventuring in his imagination, his friendships, sometimes his surroundings. This is his journal. Trip half lives in a dull English town and half in Iceland. He looks for a dream called Kingsville. He likes stars, night and the northern lights.Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.comBlogger461100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-8346850728366903512009-12-04T09:08:00.000-08:002009-12-04T09:08:00.666-08:00

Stoic Epistemology and Academic Scepticism

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-4639750172040350662008-09-27T06:06:00.001-07:002008-09-27T06:10:52.547-07:00

Skin boiling, blood scalding at the surface. Rip the jacket off, claw arm on arm till I'm free. Throw it across the room onto the bench. Get it away accursed thing. Take your comforting warmth with it.I want to freeze.Veins run liquid ice at absolute zero, hyper-efficiency. I will be the smartest computer ever. That's right.Neptune blue information runs through deep. So fast will I process, every

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-87066455124410553092008-07-07T18:58:00.001-07:002008-07-07T19:12:05.825-07:00

Trip Mckenzie and the Entropic SlaughterhouseSweaty waking to find a head aching from heat suffocation, hours wasted to find moments of rest for more of discomfort.How am I going to do it today?But I rise before the thought can follow into action. Never let the unease take shape and I might make it back to this evening sleep.Shower piss and brush your teeth, knock back a litre of water, consider:

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-8192509933945649652008-06-23T20:04:00.001-07:002008-06-23T20:04:08.497-07:00

Aimless, restless.Bleach burst my eyelids are burnt through, my brain sears. Waking up to this day after day brings on the manic. So I foil the windows;sheets of light are replaced with the tiniest pin pricks of day.Down the centre of the main street, party children strung out all along the way, basking in the counterfeit excesses of the night before. Family addled youth, dream addled tourists

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-85309734539639557232008-06-23T20:03:00.001-07:002008-06-23T20:03:25.586-07:00

Half a toy car, red with blue windows, juts out of the wall behind the bar, 20 centimetres below the spirit shelf. Aound it are tacked an assortment of drawings, newspaper clippings and half a credit card with the picture of a pretty Swedish girl in its top right corner. A well dressed man in the store he owns, a red car in front of a typically eurpean town house on a summers day, chocolate

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-7603297745883906162008-05-29T16:54:00.001-07:002008-05-29T16:54:18.613-07:00

Interconnecting two deck sides, each surfeit with camera laden and sun-dumbed passengers, is the loneliest place on solid ground.Gaze out into the vast ocean sky, lose yourself in the waves, find yourself as you swell back up.That is the dream I sailed with, at night, in day unachievable. Infesting, irritating skin and psyche, fucktards rob you, of peace and purpose. So you cross between the two

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-36504338664417686752008-05-29T16:50:00.001-07:002008-05-29T16:50:29.946-07:00

Zoetrope tunnel over clouded snow high. Untold horror lurks in a glimpse. So terribly human and ugly. Nothing more than the derelict, unkempt corner of concrete underbridge. But in glimpsing is spied something deeper, deeper and rotten. Sedimentary, mineral attrition is made organic by my mind, the desolation produced stinks of fear and loathing. Sand becomes shit, the beach our children are

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-15985475500673278442008-05-02T08:31:00.001-07:002008-05-02T08:31:52.503-07:00

Space expands, ushering increased entropic probability. Divine streams, disconnected from existence, find their configuration void favourably re-aligned. In answer to the universe's mark of approval images race, out of the void into occupied space.I sigh, with caffeine hyper-dosage running through my veins it comes out a hiss. People, of whom there are none around, back away. Disconcerted by my

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-45534288934093986182008-04-29T18:42:00.001-07:002008-04-29T18:42:08.495-07:00

The Northern Lights, dust stars, light years away by the millions. Trapped in our atmosphere, transported acoss universes. Through wormhole cracked space. I stare up and into.A wing and a prayer on imagination´s back, inspiration fuels their frenzied dance. Colour and bright, try to escape our world.Briefly I float. So tantalising. Up toward the tears, but one last flash, spectral shift and they

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-85489959530762239532008-04-13T08:06:00.001-07:002008-04-13T08:06:25.014-07:00

Reality disturbs in gestalt shifts.Between one concept to another.Experience bears out little reflection and only continuity threads it all together. So fragile crack the world and what will unravels.Drowning in electro submersive music and alcohol. Fragments of a face from sometime shatter me and I'm reeling. Through the crowd, faceless and confusion, we came together and tumble up the stairs

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-13860962656638971762008-04-12T09:42:00.001-07:002008-04-12T09:42:20.369-07:00

Derelicts and emptiness. Pass through and over, for the lost and transient.Lost transience pass through and over in derelicts and emptiness.Pass over, derelicts and emptiness in and through transience lost.Transients pass over, lost in emptiness through derelicts.For the lost and transients, derelict and emptiness. Pass through and over.Pass transience lost and derelict through emptiness.Over.

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-51462858794204247182008-04-12T09:39:00.001-07:002008-04-12T09:39:23.569-07:00

Dull grey street, functional and flairless. Colour free is its character, depressing as hell it makes you feel alive. Push your cheek hard-on crack chewed grafitti walls, run fingers over rusty chicken wire borders. Revel in reality, oncrete for once.You think I'm slumming it. Shoulder to shoulder with wild drunks and noble fuck ups, drinking in gutter water romance. Shit of the earth and that

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-31103248541010952362008-03-11T09:27:00.001-07:002008-03-18T06:56:36.697-07:00

Trip Mckenzie and the Sea of Mulagi Light flicker waves in gold, lapping boards. A tiny cloud tossed fishing boat, blue on white, orange touched wood, in fog thick and golden, radiating off sea shadows that run so deep. Uncertainty overtaking, barrier borne upon scales of incomprehensible time, a sole

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-73491835228077990412007-06-28T07:04:00.001-07:002007-08-13T17:12:53.496-07:00

Trip Mckenzie and the Interjection Pages.Opening the book, somewhere in the vicinity of page that I had reached. It lays on the desk, spread inappropriately: spine bent, binding loose and indecorous. Such provocative behaviour from this supposed tome of learning. I am nauseated. I reach out to shut it close again. I cannot bring myself to touch the pages. I stare at it, I hope with an expression

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-40557235490616526352007-06-25T17:09:00.001-07:002007-06-25T17:09:14.650-07:00

(wrote this a while ago, in lieu of anything better though I thought I would put it up. It is not written creatively or well, but I find the ideas quite interesting. More to the point my brain is not functioning right now, so I thought to kick start it a little by going over some stuff...) I realised just now that I hate language. By its nature language is a system of pre-conceptions, past

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-74393930044392604242007-06-15T20:53:00.001-07:002009-02-09T17:10:38.597-08:00

I drift in void.Orbiting a vast amorphous bubble of space.Star clouds float, deep below its skin. On occasion one floats closer. To crash and break against the impenetrable surface tensions. Explosion, magnificent spectrum. Light cascades across my awestruck face. Eyes widen at the beauty of it. Creation, destruction, all of it before me.This is the ideal of existence. My path takes me further

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-22259050444102506602007-06-14T04:53:00.001-07:002007-06-14T04:53:33.987-07:00

Get the fuck away from me. Stars traverse my fingers, Fingers over eyes. Eyes filling with stars. That is what I hope for at least. Get the fuck away from me and let me fill my head with stars. A head filled with the cosmos, All that there is vast held between the walls of my skull. Everything inside. Left outside only what is not. Not a part of everything. But instead,

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-65176478289470080362007-05-26T02:30:00.001-07:002007-05-26T02:30:25.189-07:00

One of the convenient side-effects of the search for greatness is its diversionary power. You aim for something higher than the sky and you can pretend not to notice anything underneath it.Your intellectually defined goal of soulful fulfillment allows you to ignore the emotions your heart begs to feel.This is hardly transcendence, as I said, it is merely diversion. The aim is noble, but this path

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-17200742863969910742007-05-21T08:30:00.001-07:002007-05-21T08:30:03.058-07:00

I have been trying to imagine the perfect social occasion.Driving in my car, returning from a show that never happened, nostalgia for days of my youth hitting me in the face as I travel along the dark tree lined roads of those days. I recall an excitement and a spirit of adventure that accompanied every such drive, no matter what the occasion I would be filled with expectation of the grand and

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-32539208860963770862007-05-20T20:37:00.001-07:002007-05-20T20:37:39.673-07:00

Face lies sideways, buried in the pillow.Eyes closed or staring emptily into nothingness.Fingers sitting impotently on the keyboard, elbow experiencing sensation of rough carpet.This is all I feel right now.In a moment I am sure my hip will being to hurt again.Then I might cycle through the emotions of the evening, frustration and melancholy. Not a long cycle. I'm planning to be done with it in

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-11325685202362219092007-04-08T12:34:00.001-07:002007-04-08T12:34:04.977-07:00

Writing, words, paper, pen, ink. Nothing in my head. How do I get past this point? Oral histories, fractal collapse and empty expression. Powerful idease, but none with a voice. Mind should be the voice, mine are the ideas. So where is it? What is strangling it stillborn in my throat? Holding back the words, caged in head and heart, untouched by lips or fingers. Pure in abstraction, never

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-11987771257362347532007-03-11T22:50:00.001-07:002007-03-11T22:56:35.634-07:00

Let us take the mundane for fuel, burn gas-lights through the night to equal the stars in their multitudinous beauty.Let us rage upon the catalyst of other's lack of ambition.Fly screaming into the clouds, shifting weather patterns, cold-fronts and jetstreams with our defiance of the refusal to challenge.Do the chancers and the activists have any idea how tiring they are with their torrents of

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-41641287575757815392007-03-10T20:34:00.001-08:002007-03-10T20:34:16.531-08:00

A list of questions that I have been known to think about, but that would be of questionable stability. So I ask two that occurred to me this week.The first I have no rational answer, but I have an idea.The second, I have less or more idea, is far from rationality as can be.What is this greatness of which stabs and hints in moments of awe and wonder?Why and who do I sing about when singing to a

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-62231871516216251692007-03-06T20:59:00.001-08:002007-03-06T22:26:05.719-08:00

I've done alot of driving lately. Nowhere exotic, but largely for good purpose, some even exciting in its way. That is neither here nor there though, the reasons behind these drives, not only less than enthralling for anyone but me are not the point here. With driving comes time free from distractions with my own mind. (yeah you have to concentrate on the road, but that still leaves alot more

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-52755247277452418792007-02-27T18:28:00.001-08:002007-02-27T18:28:25.959-08:00

Hell yeah, that title makes no sense.Only got five minutes to write this. don't even know what I'm going to write yet. ISS on the screen. Shouting for the Bream.Substance abuse running through my veins, if the right girl had just said lets get some drugs you know I would.Or not, something to think about.Or not, who needs to think. Not enough time, only got five minutes then I'm back on.Talk about

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-25106449240965235772007-02-21T21:57:00.001-08:002007-02-21T21:57:53.433-08:00

My god this process of getting my damned thesis ready for submission is tiring. With each big step that I take it seems that a thousand tiny ones take its place. The distance keeps getting smaller yet at the same time it seems to break down into infinitesimally many points. Certainly I will have finished by the week, but so long has it been in getting to this point that I can in no way comprehend

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-69891898305677846362007-02-18T18:53:00.001-08:002007-02-19T11:20:44.010-08:00

This place is pretty spooky; empty like this. Lights, caravans and tents of joy. At night they are all empty, lifeless and desolate. The lights are up anyway though, just for us. Tell me that ain't just a bit spooky? There's a church in a sepia graveyard. Outside the church is a plasticine tree, like a monster out of an old Ray Harryhausen movie. Maybe some nights it comes alive, stop motion,

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-55874130913177728822007-02-16T18:49:00.001-08:002007-02-16T18:49:16.205-08:00

Hell yeah, this is gonna be great. Write something inspired and imaginative and dream-laden based upon such a mundane experience as taking the night bus home after a dull night out. (let's not even get into the fact that a night which ends at 1.30 is hardly a night out. I should hardly even be out by that time.) It maybe a mundane experience, the theory goes, but it is still an experience.

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-54990703460514116312007-02-15T18:25:00.001-08:002007-02-15T18:25:35.715-08:00

Godamned those walls are high. Walls? Or are they cliffs? Or sides, maybe a canyon has sides. Whatever the answer, godamned those things are high. There is hardly any light down here on the canyon floor. I can't even see my... wait, my mistake, two feet right there. Same place as usual, end of my leg. So ok, it isn't that dark. I can see my feet, my hands, even my nose. But still, pretty dark

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-61685172521079381812007-01-31T18:54:00.000-08:002007-01-31T18:55:09.433-08:00

Imagine a city which exists only as it falls through an infinite sky. Every second brings with it a different sphere, a different climate, environment, perspective background and reality. One moment it falls through cloud another through void. From time to time its citizens can reach out touch the stars. Other times it is they who reach out into the inky blackness and with their fingers poke

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1167777430250603132007-01-02T14:36:00.000-08:002007-01-07T14:43:14.081-08:00

My waking day is filled with concrete experiences. One and a half meals, walk a hundred streets, one street walked a hundred times. Sit at a table in one or three cafes, book, computer, writing pad. A girl in drugstore, a friend in a bar. Work done no my thesis, pleasantries exchanged with strangers. Impassioned conversation over such weighty issues as science vs. mysticism, repetitive structures

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1167495180548023102006-12-30T08:11:00.000-08:002006-12-30T08:13:00.593-08:00

Watched a film, Gerry, today. Two guys get lost in the wilderness, walk around, talk a litle but not much. That is pretty much thewhole film. Nothing really happens in it. I highly recommend it if emptiness and desolation are your thing. The film got me thinking a little about dying, lost in the wilderness. What kind of way to die would that be? That is not a rhetoricla question, I could not

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1166210691784380952006-12-15T11:24:00.000-08:002006-12-15T11:24:51.846-08:00

How the hell do you write anything? You feel like running around your mind are a myriad of interesting and worthwhile ideas, concepts, perspectives. Fuck... now I think about it I don't even have a clue what I think is in my head. Now that is a new problem. Usually I am busy concentrating on the lack of inspiration and the failure to grasp an idea when I feel that it is time to write something

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1165580569211539122006-12-08T04:22:00.000-08:002006-12-08T04:22:49.256-08:00

Did your reflection talk to your again today? Yeah. Same thing every morning. What'd he say this time? Ah I dunno. Some kind of warning, beware shit. You know its always the same, you'd think it would be pretty exciting and fucked up that wouldn't wear off. Yeah sure. Damned reflection talking to you. Still seems fucked up to me. I guess so, but its the same shit every morning. Even your

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1165275993992622322006-12-04T15:46:00.000-08:002006-12-04T15:46:34.043-08:00

Wake up, spirals in my eyes, left over from dreams. Fall asleep, wake up, fall asleep, through hte cycle then bolt upright. Srping out of bed, nimble as a gazelle, fall into the wardrobe. Grab my towel, mykeys, throw my thick woolen jumpen on for decency. Someday that jumper is going to look good covering a naked girl. I open the window, turn the heating down. Clear out the stink of sleep and

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1162246119386473452006-10-30T14:01:00.000-08:002006-10-30T14:08:39.440-08:00

He rides into town and up Laugavegur on the back of the world's greatest transient killer whale, throwing seals through the air to awestruck crowds. Behind him a procession of whale corpses, totalling 15 times the worldwide quota, each and every one bigger than any whale seen by man until now, not one is of a species that any but him could identify. So inspiring is his entrance that the even the

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1158465352995263932006-09-16T20:49:00.000-07:002006-09-16T21:00:15.510-07:00

A desperate man tears at his oil paint hair. His eyes wildly stare at what? At you, at me. We are the second party. All the world's desperation turned upon the observer. See what is in my head, see what I face. How will you live with that? Now deal with that. Piano keys fall out of the sky, exploding in rioutous fireworks. The sounds, stagerringly beautiful and utterly out of context surround

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1157509072333796352006-09-05T19:12:00.000-07:002006-09-05T19:17:52.340-07:00

My god my head is hurting. Feels like some tiny ugly creature is trying to hatch its way out through the shell of my skull. This is not a pleasant feeling. Of course I could just go to sleep. It would certainly seem like the sensible thing to do right now. But sensible is related to stable and I really don't think that that is a trade I have much stock in right now. Earlier today I started

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1157508977639649422006-09-05T19:10:00.000-07:002006-09-05T19:16:18.183-07:00

My god coffee beans are a disgusting thing to eat. 3am in the morning, coffee machine switched off and a refusal to even have instant coffee in the house, however, and this is the only way I have to get a caffeine hit. I suppose I could take an inordinate amount of over the shelf pain-killers, they often contain caffeine. Seems strange to include a stimulant in something that is meant to kill

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1154964027279652852006-08-07T08:15:00.000-07:002006-08-07T08:24:08.376-07:00

I haven't shaved for years. Funny that I should be dreaming of just that. My face used to be frictionless in its smoothness, it quite possibly still is. My subconscious seemed to be interested in finding out. Which is not an unreasonable thing for it to wonder, not perhaps a particularly sublime or noteworthy wondering, out of the blue but not unreasonable. Except it all goes wrong. Thank god

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1154912053229513712006-08-06T17:49:00.000-07:002006-08-06T17:54:13.266-07:00

"I had a moment today where I felt that it was all coming together. Just me and the ideas, nothing else mattered. I was walking by the river, thinking of people, things nothing spectacular. Then the memories began to melt away, replaced with the ideas. There was noone around, just some woman doing calisthenics by the bench. The sight of her could hardly battle the ideas for my attention of course

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1153328725310991042006-07-19T10:00:00.000-07:002006-07-19T10:05:25.723-07:00

I think my face just slip right off the bone. I'm sure if I could see the growing puddle of molten skin on the floor in front of me I would feel quite sick. Luckily this isn't going to be a problem though; given that my eyes seem to have melted right out of their sockets too. I guess this is going to brings its own share of problems, but for now I have to say I am quite grateful to not be

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1152211381941439972006-07-06T11:38:00.000-07:002006-07-06T11:43:01.953-07:00

My hand is shattered half as much as the door I put it through. The door is shattered a fraction of the amount my mind shatters every day. My mind is shattered an infitesimal degree of the extent to which reality is shattered into tiny particles, quarks, magnetopoles and whatever else we imagine to explain it all. Reality is shattered in nothing like the manner in which conceptuality is shattered

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1152211015528485172006-07-06T11:32:00.000-07:002006-07-06T11:36:55.626-07:00

My hand is shattered half as much as the door I put it through. The door is shattered a fraction of the amount my mind shatters every day. My mind is shattered an infitesimal degree of the extent to which reality is shattered into tiny particles, quarks, magnetopoles and whatever else we imagine to explain it all. Reality is shattered in nothing like the manner in which conceptuality is shattered

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1151814849169278832006-07-01T21:30:00.000-07:002006-07-01T21:34:09.176-07:00

It all started with a child named Simon. Intelligent, aware and with everything provided that he might wish for,  Simon was a child with the world ahead of him. Life was simple, obvious and the future offered nothing but potential and new opportunity. Innocent and enthusiastic Simon threw himself into his young life, working hard and keenly, never a doubt, never a worry. He grew older, something

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27155772.post-1151467427758127562006-06-27T20:59:00.000-07:002006-06-27T21:03:47.786-07:00

Is this a new start or an end. Have I opened myself up to greater experience and greater freedom from my own demons. Or have I just handed them the keys to the kingdom. It is hard to tell right now, senses clouded, coordination shot and inhibitions inhibited; hard to tell what is right, what is wrong, what is truth and what is idiocy. I hope that this is an experience to lead to better things.

Vortextualhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04931115845938214038noreply@blogger.com0