The beginning can allude us all to the process of creation itself

Yes I am a genius, and I do not feel ashamed nor do I feel arrogant in saying that. But it should never be said that I am not a pretentious idiot who revels in glorifying bullshit. I am the first to claim that the ideas and theories that come out of my mouth are complete crap, completely unfounded in the realm of realism and a pointless waste of time that could better be spent pouring petrol into glasses to determine their attitude levels. BUT I feel that it would extremely irresponsible to presume to disregard these ramblings of mine. I do not feel that I am qualified to do so, being that I am only a medium, and anyone else that does make judgments on my writings, and passes it in a negative way, would probably be right. But the fact is, if they pass positive judgment, and the smiling powers are happening toward the most radiant direction of positive energies, then, well, what can we use to catch the delicious bass when all our fishing rods have been repossessed by the credit department?

You see, I am ahead of the pack. I have developed my bass catching skills so that I do not even need a rod. It need not even stop at bass. I feel that in the very near future, I will be able to fine-tune these abilities so I will be able to catch Plankton, Tuna, hell, one day I may even be able to catch Mackerel.

Would I have arrived at this poignant elevation from typical humanity had my idiotic ramblings not guided me to my enlightened (and perhaps, potentially dangerous) state? Whether I did or did not it is not for us to say. But what I do have to say is that whether or not we are saying that the fishing rod is a weapon. We cannot deny the fact that it certainly is a hunting tool. While it is (or was in more primitive times) essential to our survival, how can we have evolved to the state of post-primate when we still find bass delicious!?

I for one will be spreading sardines on toast with the rest of them, BUT, in doing this, are we realizing the dreams of our pre-evolutionary ancestors, or paving the way for our post-primitive successors? How can we dominate the world we live in, while quietly pulling our socks up, running away from the tide? It is comfortable to rest our fingers inside the leather gloves. But how are the leather gloves lower down on the hierarchy than us? Our sentience, our will, can alter our perceived state of consciousness, and so we make the world change around us through direct action. Though, if that was physically possible, without our conceited delusions of superior dominance, why stop there? Instant interaction is they key. If we are truly masters of our environment, then why do we fear it? All we need do is understand it, dominate it, and then, together, we can DESTROY IT!

My brain is so idiotic, it thinks it can exist without the mind

This establishment has received both praise and complaint in equal measure. Such is expected when publishing such bold and controversial ideas. The most surprising of the praise though, was a compliment regarding the highly factual and uncanny social relevance of my intelligence. For matters of respect, and reservation of privacy, it would be irresponsible to name the person that gifted me with this praise, but I think we should all raise our glasses and congratulate this person on their transcendence to the state of having a highly attuned sense of what my writing (in essence) IS.

We think that in using a word like IS or AS or even KNOW we must attribute it to something, an idea or one of the four tools of the English language. But it is my theory, that in doing that, we are succumbing to the very limitations and restrictions that are keeping us from achieving our potential. Not our human potential, but the potential of potentiality itself. When we connect the recognition to an article we are inadvertently cutting off any themes of universality. Why ask the question IS, connecting it to an article, when we can just a simply ask the infinite question by leaving the question before any article attachment? By simply asking IS, we're asking the question of that article, and every other article.

Due to my incredible sense of forethought, and my profound understanding of human behavior, it suddenly occurred to me upon completion of the prior paragraph that I may be criticized for word repetition. This is not due to a case of having a bad vocabulary (Abulia. Talismanic. Hahnium. See, I know heaps of big words) but a case of necessity. In order to announce the importance of themes in literature you can either isolate the words through unique format, or create repeated instances of ideas. Since I am a hugely opposed to changing the format of text inside the body of text, I find myself having to commit to the latter.

Now that I have convinced you that I am indeed a master of language (and a keen novelist, but I will leave that for another rambling) then you will believe me when I tell you to take off your shoes. I know what you are thinking, and I know, I get it. But what does that have to do with anything? It happened 3 years ago, they found the culprit, he is doing 8 years and I was cleared of all charges, and old woman Roberta got her hip replacement in the end. It is hard, but we do need to put this issue of passive government control aside for a minute, and concentrate on the shoes. When we think about why we need shoes, the answer is obvious, as we have been conditioned to accept existence parameters as requirements.

We need shoes so our feet do not get damaged in our day-to-day foot travel. Though, we also know what would happen if shoes were inexistent. Yes. Calluses. We can turn our feet into calluses. In doing that, we would not need shoes, as the thing to protect our feet would be the feet themselves because they would not need protecting from zee Germans. The shoe companies designed something to protect the very thing that is being compromised for the sake of financial gain and foot-related economic monopoly. It is when we remove the shoes (and the socks, the sock industry is an offshoot of the shoe industry) that we can laugh boldly in the face of those dirty rotten evil Krauts.

Why won't my dog add icing sugar to his soup?

The violent nature of man has caused considerable detriment to the advancement of our more moral facets of civilization. Had war and political security not been a factor, then funds spent on weapons development and research could have easily been diverted elsewhere, which may have made life easier or even saving lives through curing cancer. The cancer of the worm in the soul in the ear.

But butterflies? The worm of the butterfly is the very reason as to why we should engage in eternal celery sawing. Why should we not? We have the power. Let us cut the awkwardly unmanageable pieces of celery into a form that can greater provide for us. We need only use the saw as a starting point, cut the celery into small pieces, then throw those small pieces into the wood chipper and we can use the sawed chipped celery as spice. Sprinkles anybody? Celery seeds possibly, but why sacrifice flavor for the future existence of a particular species of flora?

It is actually a miracle that I am sitting here inspiring you once again. I suffered a horrific ordeal last Friday night. I was shot in a sensitive area with a gun. The type of gun is not important, all you need to know is that I was shot. I can tell you that when I was shot that I regretted certain things. I regretted spending $4500 on the plastic generator. Unfortunately I bought it second hand, so the go button was pushed in so hard that it become jammed, rendering the device unusable. Trade description acts prevented the seller from getting away scot-free, but he offered something to me as a settlement, and I accepted. I always wanted a troll doll.

But then one day I was spreading marmalade on my neck, something weird happened. The troll doll appeared in my appendix. The Doctor did not believe me, so I self-performed the removal of my appendix, though I hit a brick-wall when the sedatives started to take effect, so I thought really hard. Told myself to perform the operation in my sleep (if you can sleep talk and sleep walk, why not sleep perform-surgery?) and allowed the sedatives to take me away. When I woke up, the troll doll was out of my appendix, and I was such a skilled sleep-surgeon that there were no marks, no scars, no blood, and I even tidied up the mess! The appendix was far removed from sight, as was the troll doll!

All in all, this self-performed operation was a complete success, but it left me walking around without an appendix. Then two weeks later I was up town and there was a huge crowd of people sitting in a 50 foot hand basin. Curiously, I walked up to it just as the speaker was getting ready to speak. I asked a few people what was going on and they simply ignored me. Then the speaker, um, spoke up. "Who here wants a million, trillion, billion, kazillion dollars!?" he screamed to the crowd. Not one to waste an opportunity I said I would. After forming a cruel smile on his face he said "Fan-frickin-tastic! All you need do is answer these questions three. Question one. What is your name?" Making sure it was not a trick question first, I replied my with my name. "Key-rect! What is your favorite color?" I answered that too honestly. "Excellent. Number 3. How on earth do you expect us to believe that you self-performed appendix removal unconsciously while heavily sedated!?" Not having an answer for it, I simply said that I did not know. "Oh well, I guess you lose. Better luck next time."

The reason for my regret, was if I was able to stay awake through my unconscious appendix removal then I would be able to see how I could perform the procedure in my sleep, because I was awake, uh, hmm, nah, it is solid. If I did that then I would be richer beyond my wildest dreams. Turns out that the gunshot did not kill me, but it left me highly traumatized.

The return of the sinister wizard who lives in my cerebral cortex

I am a person that completely detests the re-occurrence of pasta seminars in principle, but I am physically unable to stay away from them. We all know that these awareness meets are a thing of modern understanding, and as such their hold on our state of mind is nothing short of astonishing. That the introduction of pasta-related banter has made such an incredible invasion of our psyche is an issue we need to address. We all love to discuss pasta, that is a fact these seminars have taught us and self-awareness is truly a gift bestowed in order to prevent perversion and social ignorance.

But, why should we be exposed to the very fault that the exposure is such a profound isotope for the mitigated blow-softening that shall dictate our pasta awareness is the very extremity of perception. I say we make a stand, boycott the seminars, and unite as cucumber cousins. For we know that this can only drive away themes of pasta, as cucumber and pasta can never live side by side (can you think of a single dish that combines pasta and cucumber) but it also opens up the possibility of issue relocation. It is a possibility that the cucumbers could take such a hold on for their gain.

I awoke this morning (or more appropriately, this afternoon, not having a job completely diverts all purpose from an individuals motivational core) from a very bizarre dream. This dream was one I can recall with one-hundred percent clarity which is a rarity for me; usually grasping details of my dreams simply causes the memory of them to dissipate. It was quite a strong and memorable dream.

I was picnicking in a small playground that resides in the street of my parents home, the street in which I grew up. The people I was picnicking with were people that I have never met, and present no real significance to their existence. Everything was going fine; we were nibbling on small morsels of food, without a worry in the world. Suddenly I felt I needed to leave, I was panicking, and the cause of the panic was undefined yet incredibly powerful. Up the side of the playground lays an alleyway that stretches either end, opening up into different streets as entrances. For an unfathomable reason I decided to flee through the end of the alleyway that did not lead to my parents street, this is irrelevant as it happened, because a horrible beast of a woman saw what I was trying to do, and blocked me off.

I begged her to let me through; I said that I was simply going home to grab my guitar. Bullshit, she says, you do not even play guitar, and anyone that knows me would totally agree with her. I spent the next few minutes trying to sidestep her to no avail, I was quite clearly outmatched. Suddenly, one of my fellow picnickers threw a rugby ball at me; this sent my panic into overdrive. I am not a sporty person, and I have never properly grasped the game, so it is not difficult to figure out the root of this panic.

Everybody started yelling encouragement at me, telling me to go for it, so I bent over, picked up the ball and started out in a sprint. Suddenly it felt as if I was running on slimy ice and I fell backwards, thusly dropping the ball from my limp hands. I heard the beginnings of laughter, and then I woke up with a start. I had obviously been sleeping in a funny position as my body felt all numb.

Peculiarly, I also had a small bit of adrenaline coursing through my system. I jumped straight out of bed, but I simply could not shake the peculiar feeling this dream had left me with for several hours, after putting some time into the video game that I am currently playing (my new job) the feeling faded away, and so I went out and pulled wings off monkeys.

The meaning of this dream is not clear to me, but I am trying to avoid over-analyzing this as due to the content of the dream, the derivations acquired from analysis would not be pleasurable news. I think that I would prefer to leave the dream as what it is, what it was, what it forever will be, and what Hitler gave the pregnant French camels as, an enigma.

Despite my other retarded blogs, this is true

I haven't written a rambling for around three weeks, but rest assured I have a perfectly good explanation for it. Upon a visit to my GP I learned that I have severe brain cancer. The symptoms seemed to arise instantly. I lost my motor skills, portions of my brain started to fail and I developed shattering headaches that could not be taken away even by the most advanced pan killers. I can assure you, cancer, is no joke.

Ok, if I'm being completely honest I do not have cancer, and the entire prior paragraph is nothing but a tangled web of lies. Sorry. The reason I haven't posted any ramblings in such a long time is due to my very poor motivation. I simply could not be bothered, and I will not make excuses for it. Though for 3 days last week I was completely bed-ridden. I was horribly sick with the flu, the sickest I have ever been by memory.

I had a pounding headache, extreme sore-throat and the most nagging cough. On top of that, any time I left the comfort of my bed to attend to anything my head was very light, and I simply couldn't operate. On the first night of my condition I watched half of the movie Total Recall, and then turned it off with plans to nod off. I slept for around 20 minutes and for the next 12 hours I was completely insane.

I was convinced that I was stuck in the scenario of the movie, suffering the plot with the movies heroic protagonist. Though, there were some changes, as I don't recall rubber vines and plastic anti-sleep cells being plot devices in the movie. I was on a mission to restore the rubber vines to the normal state, as this was causing these sleep-Nazis to deprive us of our sleep. Usually, these sleep cells are invisible, but due to my condition I was given the ability to see the cells. We all know that if we have a power, we have a responsible to use it to help mankind.

So, I was charged with a quest. I needed to restore the physical properties back to the vines in order to provide the sleep-deprived the thing for which they yearned. Apparently, there was a problem amongst sleepers, with sleep resources. But with my clarity of vision I was able to realize that this was not the case, as sleeping is an act of natural regeneration, and no resources were necessary. The adventures I took lead me into the wee hours of the morning, and as it approached 3am, I came to realize that when the clock struck 3, we would all be given the capability to sleep, as a population of the world (the ones who start work quite early) would awaken, freeing up room for the rest of us to sleep.

But as 3am came and went, I could not sleep. As the act of being denied sleep turned man against man, and left in its wake was a devastating aftermath. A flaming war zone of fallen brothers. I could not simply turn my back on this situation. I resolved to clean this up, and I did. I did this until 9am, and then I figured I would get up. So I did. I got up for all of an hour and then I went back to bed and resigned to watching movies.

Throughout all of this, I would get around 5 minutes of sleep every half-hour, which would be the cause of what I was seeing, and my being sick (I guess) would've carried this through into my apparent sense of reality. I remember, at one point early during the night I had the clarity amongst my adventures to realize that it was foolishness. I thought to myself, huh? This is stupid, I just cannot sleep due to being in pain! This realization must've promptly dissipated as it was followed by total insanity. For the rest of it, I was doing these things, and the strange things I was doing were reality. The following two nights carried with it no delirium, but I was equally sick. To ensure it wouldn't happen the second night I tried to deprive my sleep a little so I would sleep solidly and that seemed to work, and by the third night, I was feeling a lot better.

It's not like the gypsies pop around for crumpet and cake...

Why do we have our minds as we have them? Can I borrow your lawn mower? What makes us so special? These questions must be addressed and addresses must be questioned. And my lawns need to be mowed, in that light, I need your lawnmower.

Words are similar, or else they wouldnt be grouped as the same. Are they recognized as words or simply a subset of a category that categorizes catalysts. I recognize that in fact writing catalyst there was irrelevant and confusing, but I just really like alliteration. I am a master of language. I am writing a new bible, I am calling it THE BIBLE II.

Took me awhile to come up with that name, I squeezed many a yoghurt cup. Yogat. Some funny people say Yo-Gurt like that. Yogat. Those people are stupid. I can prove this, I have done studies. For instance there is one chart, it has a trend. I have bar graphs, flow charts. Some of you people (I say YOU people, because I am better than you and I like to elevate myself above you pathetic peasants) have noticed this sudden shift in rambling style.

It was a terrible choice to change into a new paragraph in the middle of making a point, but it was getting a little too big. Inches? No! No inches. I do not know inches. Man seriously though, I need your lawnmower!

Again I change paragraphs? Man, am I retarded or what? Not.

Another paragraph. OK, this is the last one I change before I make my point. Bratwurst, its a sausage innit? Its a funny sounding word. I would love to be able to say I was having Bratwurst for tea, but its probably more of a delicacy. My rambling style has changed dramatically. This is due to complaints. Nope, I have not had any complaints.

No feedback whatsoever. Dicks. Jerks. Penis heads. Do you want to be friends? I have a taco stand. Ok, that was a lie. I have no peanut stand. I wish Jeremy didnt eat all my peanuts, I could really use one, thats why I wrote peanut when I meant to wrote taco. But I wish I did have a taco stand, and then I could say I have tacos and burritos. I could call it my T&B stand. People would ask what the hell T&B was. I could explain to them it means tacos and burritos. They would then tell me they understand and either buy a T&B or not. Depending on whether or not they were hungry. Or Mexican.

A handful of peanuts, one would not do. Its irrelevant though. Because stupid Jeremy ate them all. A whole bowl. My mum had some too, and I had like 20. They were my peanuts, and I hardly got to eat any of them. I tried to do some weeding today. But it got too cold so I gave up. Small pork sausage. I looked it up. I hope its a better day tomorrow. Does not matter if its not, it has to be done. A lot of work.

Im going to make a coffee. I made it but I have to wait for the hot water to boil so I can pour it in the cup. I have one sugar; I find that to be adequate. Too late for a coffee probably, but no.

The jug has boiled, I shall pour it. Done. Next? Next I drink it I suppose, but its too hot. Lava. Lava is hot, but its other types of hotness, so remember to stick to relevance. Why? Because its relative. Einstein knew that. Didnt he? Eh? Probably. The stereo just told me that I am so beautiful. How uncomfortably awkward. Im not harboring any romantic inclinations towards it so I have to let it down gently. I told the stereo Im not like that, and he said that Im everything he needs. I have got to stop listening to Louis Armstrong. Need to listen to something strong. Now the stereos told me its dynamite. That could create a situation. Better nip this one in the bud.

So I need to listen to something mellow, yet not too faggy. I will randomly select songs until I find something suitable. November Rain. Perfect. I wonder what that title means, perhaps its drizzling. Some form of rain in November. Might have ruined a wedding or a bridge game, but really, they should have bought a gazebo. So they cant go blaming the weather.

The cat is staring at me. I am 80% sure that she is 20 degrees through the cone of spiral madness. Thats not even a thing. Made it up. Dont really know why, but its getting- remember scooters? They were huge. Where did we land on the lawnmower? I have got some petrol so it need not have a full tank. Mmmm, not too hot now. Its delicious. I am a fabulous coffee maker. I cannot believe I said fabulous. The cat has now come over to the computer desk. I think I said fabulous for a reason I do not know. Truth portal of platform. Huh? Man, those scooters could go VOOOOOOOM. Not even a jet can do that. Jets fight in wars and kill communists. A dead communist equals one more point for America. There is an algebraic formula to prove it. If I had a blackboard I would prove it. You can only write algebra on a blackboard.

Oh dear, I have rambled. In my rambling no less. How ironic. Who wants to bake me a jam sardine? I just keep making things up. Scratch my back with a road sign please. They are the only things that hit the spot. It has to be hateful. How come the number one gets to come first? Thats hardly fair. But whats the last number? I will hereafter refer to it as (infinity minus 1). Debate over. I shall now sign off although my back is still itchy, my coffee only half-drunk and my lawns unmowed.

PS, I am serial about the lawnmower.

Being the buffalo *outside* the cave for once. Finally. Hmm?

Its so mean. Why make something that resonates with our tastes and desires, but put a cap on it, while retaining those tastes and desires? We all know that potato chips taste absolutely glorious, the aroma and the taste and the flavor and the wondrous divinity of the, um, taste, transcend us to a plane of mild pleasant disposition. But then we come to a point in our consumption where it starts to make us feel sick (not far beyond the point of getting a full tum-tum) but not removing our memory of how incredible the chips are. It is detrimental to our state of physical stuffs to keep eating them, but we find ourselves unable to stop. I should be fine now though, I moved them to the other side of the room.

I have a fish in the oven. No I dont, thats Salad Fingers. The boy has to reach for it while Salad Fingers pricks his finger on a nail and makes the red water come out, and he cannot thank him enough for reaching for the fish, which can only be done by that point. Thanks never happened, not to happen in the anti-happenstance. Didnt get a chance, he simply remarked on the fact that he couldnt thank him in the appropriate significant amount, but it wouldnt have gone astray to thank him in a limited capacity regardless of inadequacies. Tangent. Back to the thing thats not the tangent. The hypotenuse?

Not a fish in the oven, its a bowl of instant pudding in the fridge. I made it special for when I sit down watch a movie later, and I fear that with these chips at hand, I may ruin my appetite. I very like instant pudding; it tastes like the taste of scrumptiousness. Its not fair that something that brings pleasure (being the chips, not the holocaust) can bring discomfort. Like Al Pacino says in the Devils Advocate, God gives us things to be cruel because they dont work and are broken, without screws. Because screws enable things to be opened, and if they dont have screws, then they cannot be fixed.

The levels of water in the ceiling cause little concern, doesnt really matter due to very low levels anyway. Condensation. Its condensation. But the light from light bulbs would probably dry it anyway, like its own towel, it will towel that shit, right back to Tokyo. You know how much I like alliteration. That was distasteful, the holocaust should never be in the same sentence as pleasure, feelings and emotions are still raw. Theres nothing funny about Jewish deaths and suffering. They make very good bankers, stockbrokers and lawyers. They prove to be very useful. We should all go out and befriend a heeb.

My humor is topical. Wrist pants are not a practical item; I dont believe it will ever exist. Nobody would buy any, so that wouldnt justify marketing and production. Best to forget this whole idea. I was way off on the screws; Al Pacino called God an absentee landlord. I dont. I call him a mirage. When your out in the desert you are all hungry and thirsty so you see what you yearn for. Man is stupid and ignorant (not me, everyone else) and they subconsciously yearn for a leader, and combined with a trick of the light, stupid old mankind create this god. Losers.

I had me at hello, thats when I had me. I always win the race. If I was to race light, I would win. I realize that I could not possibly run faster than light with it being tops on the track, I could push it out of the way and it would fall over, it would then start crying. I suppose since darkness is like its enemy, or its counter-property, it would be nearby laughing and pointing. Saying how light was a stupid faggot piss-lips and a retarded ugly knob-chops.

I wonder how much a superman cape would cost. I want one, and then I could fly without using airlines. Unless I construct something on a plane involving mattresses and broomsticks. I shall call it the pants-palace. That would confuzzle all the authorities. They would be all like ooh, whats that. I would say that it was my pants-palace. They would then have no choice but to elect me for office, then I could get my bills and amendments passed. Who smells chicken?

Well I dont. Why would I ask it you may ask? Curious and I havent killed any cats. Except for the cat I murdered. I did kill that one. No I didnt, unless you count the one cat that I killed in self defense. It called me the King of the World. I assumed it was about to commit an act of political terrorism, so I had no choice but to ask it where it kept its weapons of mass destruction so I could confiscate them. Then I asked to inspect its chemical warehouses and missile silos. It chose the route of non-response, so I had no choice but to stab it with a door. Those doors will never wash clean.

That was Jim Morrisons secret. He knew. Double-meaning. Doors are a very good weapon for cat murders, and they never wash clean. But that doesnt matter, since the cats dying anyway; you can reuse the doors, since it doesnt matter if you cause an infection. No need for bacterial cleaners or Dettol, the cats already dead. Then you can eat its heart. With string beans.

I wonder what would happen if a guitar was stuck inside itself. Whoosh! II am a thinker of deep layers. For the record I have killed no cats. Or have I? I will leave that for the courts. But I choose to ignore my subpoena and flee the country for Mexico, so I can have T&B and Tequila. I will then return, after I overcome my case of food poisoning and hangover.

I imagine the world would explode (or implode, but what the HELL does that mean anyway?) since a guitar cannot be stuck inside itself the rules of paradox and turtles would be broken, except the turtles. Irrelevant. I wont eat green eggs and ham Sam I am. Thats not ignorance. Why would eggs and ham be green anyway? If its some sort of food coloring I suppose it would be alright, but COME ON. Its probably gone off. So you throw the cat inside the guitar, feed it the green food, and nail a door to it without breathing holes. It would probably start to stink. So buy some Glade air spray, market leaders they be.

I got my lawns mowed, due to no help from you ballerinas. You got burned. I ask for a lawnmower, and no one obliges. Just do that pirouette like you know how you little Nancy boy. Dance your little heart out tiny dancer.