*Ruby Red Toothbrush*

Field of vision broken
train of thoughts
locked in lotus position
stuck in time and space
but never have I
felt so free
as blended melting
but I hear Her calling me
always fixed on my mind
heart swells with love
life-energy that pumps
out of a thin veil of
deulsion between Us and
Them
gives birth to tomatos
oranges
appels
flowers
buds
sugars
perfect and let alone
the blood of Mother
Nature comes from
an unseen essence
God is on the other side
of whats right in front of
us in every direction
every corner of
empty space

I find beauty in strange places and
inspiration comes from observing dull and idle movement
pushing forward through the crowd, raising my hand
screaming for them Please Wait! Please! but I dont think they
hear me. So I wont be there with you, sorry Hey at least I
Tried! But again I find myseld on the floor, there are
no windows here and they NEVER tell us what time it is. And
dont even ask about the food, or the toilet. I wouldnt have
really cared, if I did care at all I dont remember, but
the problem was that all of my time spent thinking was spent
wondering if you are OK, I know your not but it doesnt hurt to lie
a little bit does it? Im ok, trust me, I've been in much
worse situations before, this one is nothing. Although
I do miss the sunlite, and smoke, and eating, and playing with
the baby, and playing music, and sex, and beer.
But only so much. I also kind of like it here, too, I am starting
to find it not only normal, but quite funny. You should
hear the opinions we have, I would LOVE to share them with
you, but then again you never understood my sense of
humor anyway.

science was larger
give it up to the wonderers
gazing up to the stars
lost in space time transition
setting foot on ancient Mars
magic man, oh magic man
what's that rock inside your hand?
its a little power pearl
given to me by a little girl
with wings and pointy ears
buzzing while she hovers
the tall grass swampy reeds
holding the pearl to the moon
brings floods of healing waters
but science was larger
we both see the same sun
reflected on the same river
let me walk east and
you can walk the west
and still the same sun
follows so is there in fact two suns
or is it still the same one
holding the pearl to the moon
brings floods of healing waters

Opening inside my head nerve
branches extend through
my side of Earth to the opposite end
Dandelions bloom within my stomach
sick feeling sick layers of happyness
descend bristle brushes my teeth and
joyful teeth radio signal send dancing
wire antennae sparkle fish light
Bursting bubbles bayou magic wonder
time and space start slipping Im stuck
in the mud dripping with sweat dizzy
fuzzy fission neon sparks burst all around
me and endless circles move in like
imploding thoughts pregnant with ambition
drowning in desire melting into carpets
rising into fire blood flows out in syphon
walls stetch and roof heightens opens up
the sky is falling and the ground
is sending lightning and in the middle of
chaos she interrupts a seance the minds
plugged into circuitry protruding tubes
and nitrous fumes lift the mood lower the
room smiles crack all over my wall eyes
and bellies appear and fall crashing me
under weight pressure pulling my limbs apart
like blowing up in space and kore wa nan
kokoro kaishoku? Sakura saku Sakura
Saku

Comfort chasing light warmth Earth heart song
Days are the light left fading on the lawn
Nights are the skylines swallowed by the dawn
Hope is a growing sleep brushed by a yawn
Holding back the rain she soothed me with her palm
Memory images block the truth of now with psalms
Shaking in my bones like a storm before the calm
Hymns haunt my mind flashing sounds dropped bomb
Glowing eyes burning fire belly heat stills the wind
My best friend is waiting for the morning to begin.

A dark haired girl with a veil abover her eyes
With lime coloured circles dangling at the sides
and beads and jems and crystal shards
wrapped around her naked arms
"Sillly boy, pocket hand in gland,
I am your Princess from Pakistan"
under her cloak let out her hand
gained her sandal grip on sand
clutched the trigger and squeezed
let bullets flow like a breeze of bees
into my chest as I bent my knees
and hit the ground smiling
in my mind I was dialling
a number for poison control
but to no avail as I was told
"Dont live young and dont die old
cross me though you be bold"
I ate some dirt
and it stuck in my teeth
I swam to the bottom
but it was too deep.

A frog climbs a mossy rock and drops down into lotus posture for a breath catcher rest and a mind easing composure.
A brown frog who blends in on logs but a green frog who tends to the bog. He is a representative for the Organic Forest Music Society, an entire sound production company featuring the finest woodwind bebop folk jazz, kicked off by a Badger who happens to wear the monks earth tone robes and travels the forest asking for dimes. A loud gang gathering of all types of marsh, swamp, jungle and forest beasts bumping everything from squirrels dropping acorns in synch to anoerxic manitees baking painted underbelly trumpeting out echoing death cries under the firery Red suns.

In fact, most of this neck of the woods is carpeted with at thick blanket of moss, and the sink pond bass section which usually accompanies the Tuesday night jamborees, hosted by the minnow and largemouth bass themselves, layered upon layered with copious amounts of luxurious algae/lichen writhe jive dancing lovers. The lampmouth fish provide the lighting for special late night hootenanny’s by, well, opening mouths, naturally.
Anyhow, a highly intoxicated black cat sporting a full white robe with the hood pulled up high stumbles into the neighborhood. A bottle of BerryBlossom Wine in one hand and a magical bamboo flute in the other, her sharp yellow eyes squint and catch a zoom in on our brown frog, and then shift back into a glazed over, mellow hello kitty kat eye smile as she moseys on down the God provided cobblestone lane. In between blowing reeds, under a canopy of heavy willow dangling and oak foliage she makes her way to the frog and plops down right beside him on the rock, only she lazily sprawls herself out and rests on one paw while looking up to the early morning Spring skies.

Burp! *Hickup!* Burp! *Hickup Hickup!* goes the cat.
“My, my dear friend, however do you manage your life, being so drunken and warm this early in the days? And your flute? Can you play like this?”
“*Hickup!* My good man, my good man! I do say! Lay some hindu chants on me brotha Im feeling misty eyed under this *Hickup!* mother lovin*Hickup!* beautiful heaven!”
And with that the frogs eyes swelled up with white liquid and the lenses turned bright orange-red then they bulged right out as he went into an epileptic fit of seizing the moment, right proper electrocuted with this prana harvesting mama cool cat! He did a quick in-place back flip, sat back down, steady, steady…and began to sing “Hare Krsna, Hare Krsna, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Shanti Shanti Shanti Shanti Shanti…” And the hidden glade lived happily ever after forever and ever Aumen.

A beautiful sound, an organic drone, fulfilled the manifested atmosphere comprising her thought matter. The structure of this particular cognizant bubble was birthed by the beautiful repetitive sound, nurtured by its familiarity ensuring a gentle guidance, as the bubble?s complex nature matured rapidly into abstract fabrication due to the conflict of the sound generation?s aftermath overwhelming the simplicity of the fundamental humming. Some may argue the construction of radical mental imagery to be spawned from within the principal essence of a dualistic mind itself, composing abstract forms by manipulating elemental, pre-registered data under the influence of external stimuli into superfluous fragmentations. But Brooke has for years held her opinion that a thought likened to the act of mental creation is in opposition to a thought geared towards producing emotion, and that in fact not only does knowledge come from elsewhere than the mind-self, she also concludes that imagination is dawned upon the mind-self from an entirely unique and remote point of origin.
Following this brief alteration in the function of typical mind-self Brooke allowed the not at all unpleasant shift in consciousness to settle in like the absorption of Sun drops into the morning dew. The pattern continued to flicker back and forth upon the screen projected between the protective lens covering her forest green eyes and the external objects composing her bathroom, displaying an intricate matrix of interlocking geometric shapes superimposed against yet another layer of neon film revealed to her mind-self as a grid network of interwoven circles. Her comprehension of gross matter as being a sort of precipitation of the finer, subtle electricity which permeates the universe is due to this ?forced? alteration of mind-self utilizing her elemental macro map, the dimensions of which are illusory being that on a microscopic measure rotation reflects the core mechanics, as well as external reactions, of everything known to the six mind senses, from the blossoming of atoms to the dances of the celestial heavenly bodies. Using this esoteric map as the foundation for the formulation of thought, and harmonizing with the beautiful sound, the organic drone, as the guidance for piecing together the fragmentation of her scattered mental imagery, Brooke was able to separate her mind-self from her bodily host.
She did exist; simultaneously with the consciousness of her body resting on her toilet seat, as well as an isolated consciousness localized somewhere outside near the sidewalk, where the beautiful sound was coming from. Four floors below her bathroom window, where the rain gutters let out. It had been raining since early in the am hours and was at a steady drizzle at 10am during the recovery of her basic motor skills while she pictured the people passing by the gutter?s leak in her mind-self. The accumulation of the total maturation processes involved in the just past cognizant bubble?s short lifespan appeared to have delivered nothing more than a mystical expansion of consciousness, a clairvoyant position regarding the people walking underneath the rain gutter four stories down, the entire Universal Mind Essence attunement necessary, all of it shaped and guided by the natural hum of the rain, gone off the deep end of the pool into abstraction by the conflicted leaking of the gutter hanging over the open bathroom window.
Oceans composed of thought bubbles bloom out from a different film between the individual thoughts and swim around inside the multiple mind-selves inhabiting Brooke?s body and nearby consciousness associations, blossoming into a comprehensive blend of a soothing natural soft light which calms as it asserts the reemergence of the knots tied amongst the singularity of her mind-self essence. She reaches onto the sink counter to her left and loosens a single Newport 100 cigarette. Putting the cigarette frantically between her soft, glossed pink lips she lights it using a burning tea candle under an oil burner and let?s out a sigh of relief as the smoke trails out of her nostrils and mouth, and the nerves stringing her charged-up body along settle down. She sits a moment, hesitantly, physically and mentally motionless until the sound of the rain against the busy Monday morning Philadelphia animation come back into play. After another puff she puts the cigarette back in between her lips, scratches her left ankle with her right hand and begins to pull the plain white underwear back up her skinny legs, over her wobbly knees and standing straight up squeezes her butt into lazy gray sweat pants.
After flushing the toilet she stops at her mirror over the sink to make sure she is looking acceptable, and upon pulling the cigarette out of her mouth remarks silently ?Oh God momma! My lips are fat, come on now...? and with that came a smile, the silly, happy kind of smile that Irish girl?s eyes conform with every time something deeper is on their mind-self. Suddenly her mind behind the eyes and ears shifted downwards to the mind between her pink toenails and the bottom of her feet as the two met the freezing cold surface of the bathrooms floor?s lime green tiles. The reaction of gripping the tiles came automatically and uncontrollably and the fear of the obtrusive, obsessive mental entity sank deep into Brooke?s heart.

Hands together holding us but we're all going into ourselves. Like a sinkhole with a fountain at the bottom throwing it all back up. Wires crossing over one after another are growing from every corner which ever way she looks, superimposed against the backdrop ether, the forest fight for sunlight, the minds eye beaming. Wires pumping with bright liquid light, the eye is creating this and absorbing it all. Drums sound out, existence is dancing back into motion but whatever is breathing waxes and wanes as if her pulse needs testing repeatedly. Pressure this powerful, "I don't know what this is about." she wonders. "But I've seen it all before" so familiar "so controlled…" and perfect and in tune. Circle ripples within circles crash against the beach on a tiny island "Welcome to the junction" a voice booms and roars. Brooke is standing on the peak of a mountain on one foot with tennis sneakers. Second sunset steaks across the atmosphere the sky bursts open. Violently she's thrust back into the wooden floor, plants sparkle and expand and pop blackness explodes at the center bending towards her as the wires retreat, and she throws up once into the magic carpet, dry heaving for a moment. A neon grid is there, it's here, a web of reflecting beads strung out dreaming star fall. Wiping her mouth clean she decides she needs to brush her teeth but falls back into the floor with hysterical laughter.

Our organic hum. Cry of the Planet? More like reverberation, the continuous validation, a reminder pointing out the moment of the nanosecond and the moment of eternity. Stretching back to a beginning that never happened and reaching out in hope of touching an end that is not coming. Gentle wind played silent music passing through her short brown hair and floral pattern sundress, and Brooke taps her heavy boxy glasses back up her nose out of needless habit. Wonderful music! And the Sun is my best friend.

She crosses Walnut on 6th and stepped onto the parks grassy carpet so as to avoid the crowd filming some rediculous amateur experiment across the stone path. As she scans the happening of this natural occurrence walled in on all sides by tall buildings and one way streets, Brooke settles her heart on a shady spot backed by two tall maple trees. While walking she has the natural impulse to tug softly at the wire haning from large headphones covering her ears where short burnette locks stick out defiantly against her cheeks. She never actually plugs her headphones into anything, her left hand performs the magic as it is.

Sitting down with her long legs wrapped in white stockings stretched out in front of her, feet slightly parted and wobbly knees just barely bent, Brooke leans back on her hands, one in a fist still clutching the wire, the other open wide to receive the dandelion spotted ground. Just then a boy of 6 years approaches her without hesitation, his arrival is noticed immediatley and Brooke sits up on her butt straight to acknowledge his presence. After adjusting her glasses and brushing off her dress, she gives the boy a warm smile, barley parting her glossy lips.

"Hello!" she says, folding her hands in her lap. She can see the boys parents not far behind him walking up the path in their direction.

"Hewwo, can I give you a stickaw?" says the boy. His teacher had given him an entire strip of gold star stickers.

"Um, well, of course you can! Why not? It's a free country right?"

"Yea…" says the boy. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his little strip. Since Brooke is sitting on the ground he doesn't have to kneel to apply 2 stickers to her face, one on each side an inch below her green eyes.
"Jack come come, let's not bother the girl now…" said the boys parents who were a few feet beyond the two new friends.

"Ok ok, bye bye miss gawl" Jack said, and slowly turns away to walk with his parents who were smiling peacefully at her. Brooke has nothing to say, but rather she briefly watches the family continue through the park and then returns to her reclining position. As she is resting under the two maple trees, a calming wave of euphoria settles on her head and flows outward into her limbs. Reflecting on her position, the source of her consciousness brings a sudden unexpected awareness of itself. Looking in at her own essence, her own nature of being, she discovers a wonderous revelation that has been suspended, frozen in time and space since a beginning that never happened and waiting for an ending that is not coming. The source of her, of who she is, looking in on itself, aware of it's own manifested existance, is an endless room composed of endless mirrors. A perfection of geometry. We are forever.

Once more the glasses are pushed back up, her eyes glow in amazement, she rubs at the star pressed against her skin. With a newport 100 pulled out from over her hear, pressed in her lips, she realizes that she doesn't have pockets on her dress, nor a lighter or matches. Just then a butterfly landed on the tip of her nose and the Earth's heart rhythm skipped a beat.

Underground stations always make for some fine passing
moments in absurdity, especially when you have no where
to go at 07:00am and you take your time walking through
the early morning rush. How Marta moved that morning
was a typical expression of her general discomfort here,
a city life didnt quite match her taste. Breezing past
faces struck with many different expression the
nonchalant fluid motion of her steady ascencsion
towards daylight may have caught the eye's of a few
hurried suits, possibly some college boys. Going agianst
the grain she glanced breifly at the station's multi-
colored tile walls, which passed out of sight as she
entered the first lower floor Market East.
So she bought a pack of cigarettes and decided to
exit on Filbert St, luck would make sure today that
several cab's parked front and center by the Greyhound
Bus terminal to keep movers dry during the rainy season.
Wind is always in abundance by the river, ice and sleet
tend to make our days.
Marta put her big black sunglasses on to hide what
obvious emotion was bubbling behind her eyes, lit one
of her fresh smokes and auto-dialed slot 2 on her
cell phone.
"Hello?" came the heavy voice on the other side.
"Hello? Christian? Christian, it's Marta.
"Marta, you made it? You in the city?"
"Yea..." she said softly.
"Ok, I guess your taking a taxi, I can meet you back
at the house in about 20 minutes. Alright?"
"Yea...yea ok, I be there."
"I hope so...bye Marta."
"Bye." she said and closed her phone, sliding it back
into her light brown bag.
Pulling a hood over her dark black hair she signaled
to a cab and started walking across the street. The
driver allowed her to open the back door herself and
have a seat. He was a middle aged man, with dark eyes
and a long beard. He kept his head covered in a cream
white hand crochet kufi, and smiled slightly when he
spoke to her. Of Middle Eastern descent, very responsive
and how he could handle that rush hour traffic...
"Where we headed?" his voice came strong but friendly.
"38th and Powelton please."
"38th and...the bar?" a hint of confusion covered by
an illusive suspiscion.
"38th and Pearl actually, but no one ever know's where
that is."
"I know where it is, dont worry." and he turned on the
meter, turned up the arabic music, and pulled out onto
10th st.
Making his way over to Market, the busy line through
center city amongst and head and Marta was left staring
out her back left window.
I wish this ride would last forever.
Why did I even come back here? I should have left him
alone, I would be much better off.
More faces go past her field of vision, most displaying
some empty lonley familiarity.
Over consumption, too many drinks, too many drinks...
The city is alive and breathing, you can feel the rolling
waves of inhalation followed by exhalation as the people
move in unision. In synch with the way we are.
As the cab pulled up to 38th and Pearl, she allowed
herself one last deep breath to define her stability.
Her face glowed red, the complexion of her brown skin
went well with her white sweater.
This was it, here she was. Breathe in, breathe out, she
has been in much worse situations before. After this is
was straight back to Mexico.

To this day I find myself quite skeptical regarding my own sincerity, and in fact as time moves forward I notice the insubstantial void of my networked memory falling apart. I feel fairly certain that I maintain an ability to distinguish between subconscious dream states, fantastic mental imagery and awakened, stimulated experience. The problem with what Aidan and I refer to as ghost dance is that though we both, in a sense, share an explicit memory extracted from the particular occurrence, neither of us are entirely sure that it actually happened. As absurd as this may sound I feel compelled to relate the incident, to expound the sense of awe I continue to harbor, because it has a grounding effect on my consciousness. A sobering clarification from the bottom up releases as the somber state of not knowing which is which and who is who gently untangles itself from my knotted mentality.
Before I lay down the happening itself Id like to share the only solid realization Aidan and I have accepted; the fact that the concept of free will, of being in any position where control is exerted by an isolated sense of self awareness is a total fabrication of a mind which as of yet remains ignorant to the fundamental code of existence. There are any myriad means by which one comes to this understanding but the profound nature of the rewired thought channels destination will always be the same.
Our teaching began during the summer of 1985 in the month of June. It was a warm Sunday spent at home in our old south Philadelphia neighborhood. I had just turned 22 not even 2 weeks prior and Aidan was hanging onto 23. We used to share a row home in a poverty stricken ghetto, him being from Taiwan and myself Irish. Needless to say, we stood out in that crowd.
I remember waking up unusually early that morning, sometime around 9am to find my roommate on the floor eating a bowl of fruity pebbles in front of the television, I believe he was watching Adventures of the Little Koala. He nodded to my presence as I passed into the kitchen to prepare my daily pot of tea, a vital medication to ease both our lingering stupors brought on by a powdered heroin binge. While waiting for the water to boil I prepared my glass with a base of honey and wiped the sleep clean out from my eyelashes. Aidan meanwhile dropped out to the front steps for a smoke and called back through the open door for me to join him. Gathering my matches and a Newport I followed him with my honey green tea in my right hand.
The two of us blew a bunch of smoke and an equal amount of pointless words, sitting on the steps under the Sun, watching the little black children run wild up and down the avenue pretending to shoot at each other, one of our favorite pastimes. And really wouldn't you expect it, but a jumble of unnerving loud sounds exploded to our left, just wrapped around the block corner. The initial mix of a car horn blaring with a human screaming, the screeching of automobile brakes and the following bang that reverberates down the four closest intersections, rattling windows and jump starting hearts.
Dropping my tea and chasing after my lifelong friend around the corner bar, my mind quickly catching up to it's expectations, I lost my breathe momentarily as we joined the small crowd gathering around the 8 year old black boy lying face down on the concrete. His blue t-shirt was already a mess of blood to match the hood of the minivan and his bike had been thrown several feet from his body. An elderly man playing his part in the drama by touching the child for a sensation of the life force confirmed what we already could feel, that he was on his way to a different place. The old man held him in his arms amidst the shouting of the driver and the wailing of a few women while the rest of us stood silently, observing the unfolding motions of time. Sounds of police sirens began in a short moment and steadily grew in intensity and I will never forget what the trance felt like as the boy rolled his eyes weakly and settled his gaze in harmony with my own. I knew in that very moment that he was about to leave, there is a certain vibration a person radiates in the moment of separation. But the boy appeared almost to be smiling, at least his eyes reflected it, and I somehow knew in that moment that much wisdom was manifesting itself openly but for whatever reason, I was the only one touching it. It was like only he and I existed right then, the elderly man, the driver, the crowd, my roommate, none of them were even there to us. A connection was being made and the awareness of the other people faded into the background and became as insignificant as the homes and shops, the drug store and the bar.
His eyes glazed over twice and went back into resting and slowly the life of the setting danced playfully back into animation. At first I felt utterly alone, isolated and very much dazed and in a way that I've never felt before. But I had just received a blessing and as I watched the energy coming from the surrounding beings wrap my consciousness up along with it, a strange air blew into our minds. Almost as if a set of hands fell upon our collective shoulders, and I realized that this all had to happen, that it was perfect, that it was controlled. Right about then my breathing resumed its normal rhythm and a perpetual comprehension of déjà vu kept playing itself out on repeat.

Mexicali became Mexikalima?

It's my favorite of your stories

Aura wrote:Mexicali became Mexikalima?

It's my favorite of your stories

Yea! Thank you Aura

This morning at the congregation
Sunday

the strangest mind took its place
maybe the coffee was too strong or
the barbeque signs gave hints
to a different sense of importance self
check out wasnt my only option
but that is what I decided because no
one cares about church anymore such a
shame a sleep
such a shame bloom blum bloom Bloom! excuse
me no immediate response. yet,
you have given me the greatest gift with
a shaken vibration aum aum flip of your wrist
I dont exist shanti sat chit bliss
bitch.

MEDICINE wrote:This morning at the congregation
Sunday

the strangest mind took its place
maybe the coffee was too strong or
the barbeque signs gave hints
to a different sense of importance self
check out wasnt my only option
but that is what I decided because no
one cares about church anymore such a
shame a sleep
such a shame bloom blum bloom Bloom! excuse
me no immediate response. yet,
you have given me the greatest gift with
a shaken vibration aum aum flip of your wrist
I dont exist shanti sat chit bliss
bitch.

I see what you did there

Giant, right?

Lost Soul Siphon
- [Brooke's unit dissociative malfunction.]

Part 1
A seizure, a violent rocking of the body and mind, thrust back into waking consciousness against her will. Seperating, a sifting of the sand, the mixed signals soporific. Although Brooke lacks a solid foundation in knowledge of the neurological, she is certain that whatever modern science there is revolving around the strange occurence known as Hypnagogic Hallucinatory phenomena [commonly referred to as 'Sleep Paralysis'] remains hypothetical; and, being armed with her raw datum of personal experience, she dubs herself a pioneer.
A frontiersman girl, standing at the footsteps of an initial rediscovery, teetering on the edge of sanity, being forced to risk losing her grasp on points of referrence with every evening biosynthesis converting Tryptophan to 5-hydroxytryptamine to N-acetyl-5-methoxytryptamine. After exiting the limelight, but before mind descends back into the nervous system, she blasts through the grayscale montior; there is yet another state of being. A vividly imaginative core still plugged directly into the moment of creation.
Like a hallway of all reflecting mirrors reaching outwards in every direction, directions that have no destination, destinations that have no location, autonomous locations that exist within the holarchy yet have no perceptible boundaries. Indra's Net, the Akashic records; metaphorical representations of this 3rd party logistics broker who goes by too many names.
"Why does this keep happening to me..." she thinks to herself, "I'm afrai..., to... to go back to sleep." Rolling over on her right side, sleeping with her back down to her butt pressed against the wall for security, she pulls a pathwork quilt further up over her shoulders and clutching the frayed corners with painted fingernails, closes her eyes back shifting imagery visions flash across the screen. Roaring sounds of bombs exploding, of thunder, sounds of the sea screaming in agony with Life suffering bubbling to the surface

Part 2
A seizure, a violent rocking of the body and mind, thrust back into waking consciousness against her will. Shifting imagery visions flash across the screen. Roaring sounds, explosions, lazers, chemical reactions, electric shocks every nerve in her body melting from a fire; from sensory overload. Bright blinking neon signs.
The eyes are open but the body is numb. She can not feel it all this time but is sure that sweat is leaking out of every pour, beading up above the brow and forehead.
"Maybe if I...if I push..stretch or yell scream maybe someone will hear me..." totally dead. No response comes from signals sent in vain to the extremities. Shaking violently, a seizure, a rocking of the body...Anesthesia, hello, is this the void? Have I found a vacuum? There, is the answer, is the answer, is the answer, is together, is together, along with along with along with along with along with with with with with out without without you-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou YES! tell the moon dog YES! tell the moon dog YES! tell the moon

Part 3
Flickering cande light dim dying "I can see.." Brooke sit's up in bed immediatley upon regaining control, rubs her eyes and rests back on the pillow. Looking up at the ceiling she instead sees it replaced by a stained glass window, littered with flies clinging upside down to the various cracked sections. The buzzing sound the insects are making is so loud it pierces her ears, grabs them in pain and the confusion comes, the stuttering, her teeth have clamped shut and bitten right through her tongue.
Backwards now.
And falling, falling, sinking? no, I'm falling. Yes, I'm sure of it. Like a monkey dropped out of a tree branch.
The ground is coming up now the grass the ground the grass the ground SMASH! into.
"Where are my glasses?" Brooke fingers through the grass. She pads down her dress pockets, pulls out the shattered spectacles and puts them on, brushing back the loose strands of light brown hair hanging out in front of her ears. "3-d glasses..." after they are put on.
Standing up, she brushes the dirt off her white dress, lifts her foot onto the hood of her tan '93 Mazda Protege to rub a sore spot on her knee. "Must have been from the fall" she thinks to herself outloud. "I better get to work.." as she opens the car door, sits down and closes it. Putting the stick in neutral since the driveway is a slope, she rolls backwards and shifts into first. Kids are playing basketball, turning after the stop sign...
The radio is blasting but her ears feel much better. "KYW...New's Radio...1060[am] You give us 10 minute's, we'll give you the world."







***26 MINUTES AND 3 STATE ROUTES LATER***
Shifting becomes a problem, her knee is throbbing witht the pain from the fall.
"Man that shit really fuckin hurts...what the fuck..." thinking, it suddnely dawns on her that she did actually fall from something, or from somewhere.
The car pulls in past the fire station, into her apartment complex. Parks in front of AA building. Walks inside AA building. Checks metal mailbox cubby built into wall like high school gym locker. Like parole office generic turn key locker. Nothing but local coupon hand out. Nothing but wrong address. Brooke walks into her apartment and drops her purse to the floor, feeling disoriented, kind of walking around in a daze here.
She decides to fry a sandwich on the stove, drops oil in a pan and takes out a plate from the cupboard. Havarti, cheddar, provolone and swiss "my favorite.." and waits until its golden brown.
"Wait a minute. What the...?" the sandwich is finished but the oven had never even been turned on. In fact, that particular burner hadn't worked since she moved in. Her head begins to ring, too dizzy to stand, shaking like an earthquake, turtles are walking around the corner

Part 4
It's sort of like what I imagine an anti gravity chamber feels like. Brooke wakes up in her bedroom. I guess it was just a fucked up dream. And is rising, horrifyed, in extreme slow motion out of the bed, slowly up towards the ceiling. She is desperatley trying to grab onto her nightstand, her bureau, but her legs dangle on top of her as her head and arms stay upside down.
Voices are heard coming from the living room. It's my parents. It's my mother. She's talking about me. I need to get down!!
Turtles are walking around and the bedroom floor is 3 inches deep with muddy water and reeds. The tank is empty I forgot to feed them! but how much water fits in that damned tank anyway?
Brooke wakes up in bed wearing nothing but underwear and a t shirt. She puts on black fuzzy sweatpants and walks outside to have a cigarette.
Brooke wakes up again in bed wearing nothing but underwear and a t shirt. She puts on black fuzzy sweatpants and walks outside to have a cigarette. Its not cold outside tonight but the poor girl is trembling. It's 4:00am. After listening to the crickets, establishing now that this is real, she goes back inside and lays down again to fall back asleep. "I still have 3 more hours before work" and this time lies flat on her stomach.