Turns out I am on a mission to make it to the big show, once complete I may die, and my next life begins, and i'll and be with my soul mate, at last and forever! I'll try not to ejaculate in my pants when the time comes. Am I some sort of schizopath burger? Yes! Do I see infinity in a grain of sand? Little bit.
Part One
It all started when I began to see 11:11, 1:11, 2:22, repeating digits in general all too frequently when I looked at clocks and timers. My roommate pointed out to me that he had been seeing it a lot lately, and so I began to pay attention. I noticed little unconscious jerks in the back of my mind telling me it's time to snap my head and look at a clock. I began getting it constantly. He thought it was weird at best, and after enough times of me pointing it out I felt he had declared it me watching the clock. All alone in my little ego bubble I spun out of control and went schizoaffective. I was hearing voices. I remember the first moment I was jolted out of meditation by a woman's voice whispering "we're watching you" in my ear. I needed the answer. I needed the answer! I was confused. If I couldn't recover I would kill myself. I knew I had something important to do and people needed to take me seriously. If I couldn't stop being confused I would kill myself. If I couldn't stop being schizophrenic I would kill myself. If I couldn't stop being confused I would kill myself!
Walls closing in. The sky is falling and I am sober. I'm hallucinating and I am sober.
Did I break my brain when I had that most blissful mushroom trip? The one where I figured out where I was going to be a filmmaker? The one where the other told me I would make a good filmmaker? It was my first contact with the other, a few months after I had started noticing synchronicity, it was absolute realization that there was another being in my mind communicating with me. Then the next morning it was absolute realization of the absolute realization that there was another being in my mind communicating with me. I'm schizophrenic now, gotcha.
Then after a lot of social isolation and studying psychology I found myself on three hits of acid writing in my journal how I'm basically insane and this is my last ditch effort to get out... Yeah... Yeah... Not gonna happen. So much fucking tension in me. I absolutely can't stop writing like this because it's the only way that conforms to the way my hands shake. This is too good. Why can't I just calm the fuck down? There's my problem right there, it's all in my fucking body, why can't I just get rid of it!? Maybe I need it.
What is it? It's some mysterious energy. Some Kundalini serpent thing moving through my body.
It's the sickle cells in me.
I absolutely can't stop writing like this because it's the only way that conforms to the way my hands shake. What are these thoughts I'm thinking? Are they mine? They don't sound like mine. Wait a second, what am I writing? Why did I just write "And a serious problem it is... And this is where I bring it to an end. [WHAT THE FUCK!?] Now I can feel how I've always been at this tempo." I remember now. I remember when I was on 2CI several months ago, typing something on my computer when I lost control of what I was typing and accidentally typed something like "Now I can feel how I've always been at this tempo." because this weird kundalini snake thing was using my fingers. I remember. I'm on the fast track. Now I can feel how I've always been at this tempo. Hello Other. I love you. You're scary.
Wow. My heart is always going a mile a minuite because I can see the goal line. It's in my sight.
But I need a miracle to bring it back so here we are.
2012...
Oh my God.
So I guess I know my assignment! Gotcha. Sorry about all the mess.
Part Two
So here we are. We have the telepathy. We are at the next step of human evolution.
Who is we? We is many people. Many other people. Not the voices in my head. Turns out the voices in my head were people and ghosts in and around my neighbourhood, and of course "the other".
Yup.
Turns out I'm more of a schizoid schizotypal sociopath type, not so much a schizoaffective type. Turns out I wasn't talking to other versions of me. It's true. I asked them.
Yup.
One day at 4:00 in the morning, on drugs, I came into telepathic communication with my soul mate, Jamie. The woman who used to live in my appartment before she got evicted for all the crack. We are artists. We are filmmakers. We are musicians. We are. We. We are at the same place. We are on a mission. We are in a beautiful wonderland that was not meant to be. Jamie, I love you, please kill me. When are we going to meet?
To anybody who's reading this who has a death fetish, don't worry, it's okay. So does everybody. To anybody who's reading this that doesn't have a death fetish: you're lying. Stop it. It's beautiful. Stop running.
Death is an illusion.
We'll prove it.
Watch.
Jamie's dead. Jamie just left a dead body in her parent's basement.
Jamie, I love you, please kill me. It was supposed to be me first.
Turns out I'm not schizophrenic. Turns out it's telepathy.
Yup.
When are we going to meet? In our next life, at last and forever! Where we will do film.
But for now we are two souls wandering this earth until The Big Show. You can use my body when you need it. I'll just near death it on heroin like my neighbours have been successfully doing. My neighbours with the telepathy turns out i'm not schizophrenic. But we can't use crack for the body swap. The ice is too sharp. So long as this body doesn't die.
Part Three
So Osborne Village is telepathic. Whoops, that's what we get for playing with all sorts of crackmeth psychosis. To be awakened to telepathy you have to put a stimulant or psychedelic in your system or have a certain level of autism and be in a hotspot or in the presence of somebody of a higher level of consciousness, somebody who can peek through your third wall. My friend Sam first looked into my mind while travelling in the hypnagogic state during a sleep over when we were children. Whoops, that's what we get for being all sorts of... 2012.. uh... uh... The memories were repressed a little, but after we had met again and I had absorbed his contact high several months ago while I was still under the impression that I was talking to the voices in my head I had completely recalled them. By the end of the night, his contact high entailed a long, detailed conversation over telepathy and all sorts of fast moving, complicated, telekinetic healing.
The tool EMDR (Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing), which involves a tone pulsating from one ear to the other and a pulsating left/right visual or tactile input, usually used for decompartmentalization of thoughts and belief systems can alternatively be used for inducing a temporary schizophrenia-like state by looking to the alternate side of where the tone is playing while under the influence of pot, a stimulant or psychedelic. During and after the session you are more open to telepathy. People can project themselves into the room, visually, using objects scattered around the room. It's sacred. We're gonna bring it to music and light shows and sickle cell lock you on the dance floor.
The woman who discovered the extra special side of it, our mom, a brilliant psychotherapist, is not in her original body, she killed herself looking for a cure to the schizophrenia. Whoops, she found it. And then some poor broke woman came to us with a body. Whoops, we're stealin' it. With all sorts of heroin overdose. We used your good sickle cells, we used your good autism. We spread good cheer throughout the neighbourhood. You'll reincarnate somewhere.
I could feel her calling us all toward some center, in osborne village, before I was awkakened and in tune to telepathy... around the time I was lost in a daze of repressed memories. We are lost. Can you come find us? Put us all back together?
Are you the room with all the dead bodys in it? Nope, I'm just practicing EMDR on a psychedelic. My neighbours with the telepathy turns out I'm not schizophrenic are the ones with the opiate at the moment. Whoops. Who put the word I in there? The one doing all sorts of schizophrenic get to the heroin orgy part. Whoops, who put the word schizophrenic in there? I wanna poke a needle through it. Just like that reference to the telekentic healing. I'm freakin' out... I'm freakin' out! Nah not really.
And then some poor broke woman came to us with a body. Whoops, we're stealin' it. With all sorts of heroin overdose. And we broke it. Whoops whoops whoops whoops whoops.... whoops... whoops....
...
whoops.
Get to the 2012 part. Get to the big heroin orgy part. Get to the death part! Where I will be all sorts of crescendo!
whoops.
Part One
It all started when I began to see 11:11, 1:11, 2:22, repeating digits in general all too frequently when I looked at clocks and timers. My roommate pointed out to me that he had been seeing it a lot lately, and so I began to pay attention. I noticed little unconscious jerks in the back of my mind telling me it's time to snap my head and look at a clock. I began getting it constantly. He thought it was weird at best, and after enough times of me pointing it out I felt he had declared it me watching the clock. All alone in my little ego bubble I spun out of control and went schizoaffective. I was hearing voices. I remember the first moment I was jolted out of meditation by a woman's voice whispering "we're watching you" in my ear. I needed the answer. I needed the answer! I was confused. If I couldn't recover I would kill myself. I knew I had something important to do and people needed to take me seriously. If I couldn't stop being confused I would kill myself. If I couldn't stop being schizophrenic I would kill myself. If I couldn't stop being confused I would kill myself!
Walls closing in. The sky is falling and I am sober. I'm hallucinating and I am sober.
Did I break my brain when I had that most blissful mushroom trip? The one where I figured out where I was going to be a filmmaker? The one where the other told me I would make a good filmmaker? It was my first contact with the other, a few months after I had started noticing synchronicity, it was absolute realization that there was another being in my mind communicating with me. Then the next morning it was absolute realization of the absolute realization that there was another being in my mind communicating with me. I'm schizophrenic now, gotcha.
Then after a lot of social isolation and studying psychology I found myself on three hits of acid writing in my journal how I'm basically insane and this is my last ditch effort to get out... Yeah... Yeah... Not gonna happen. So much fucking tension in me. I absolutely can't stop writing like this because it's the only way that conforms to the way my hands shake. This is too good. Why can't I just calm the fuck down? There's my problem right there, it's all in my fucking body, why can't I just get rid of it!? Maybe I need it.
What is it? It's some mysterious energy. Some Kundalini serpent thing moving through my body.
It's the sickle cells in me.
I absolutely can't stop writing like this because it's the only way that conforms to the way my hands shake. What are these thoughts I'm thinking? Are they mine? They don't sound like mine. Wait a second, what am I writing? Why did I just write "And a serious problem it is... And this is where I bring it to an end. [WHAT THE FUCK!?] Now I can feel how I've always been at this tempo." I remember now. I remember when I was on 2CI several months ago, typing something on my computer when I lost control of what I was typing and accidentally typed something like "Now I can feel how I've always been at this tempo." because this weird kundalini snake thing was using my fingers. I remember. I'm on the fast track. Now I can feel how I've always been at this tempo. Hello Other. I love you. You're scary.
Wow. My heart is always going a mile a minuite because I can see the goal line. It's in my sight.
But I need a miracle to bring it back so here we are.
2012...
Oh my God.
So I guess I know my assignment! Gotcha. Sorry about all the mess.
Part Two
So here we are. We have the telepathy. We are at the next step of human evolution.
Who is we? We is many people. Many other people. Not the voices in my head. Turns out the voices in my head were people and ghosts in and around my neighbourhood, and of course "the other".
Yup.
Turns out I'm more of a schizoid schizotypal sociopath type, not so much a schizoaffective type. Turns out I wasn't talking to other versions of me. It's true. I asked them.
Yup.
One day at 4:00 in the morning, on drugs, I came into telepathic communication with my soul mate, Jamie. The woman who used to live in my appartment before she got evicted for all the crack. We are artists. We are filmmakers. We are musicians. We are. We. We are at the same place. We are on a mission. We are in a beautiful wonderland that was not meant to be. Jamie, I love you, please kill me. When are we going to meet?
To anybody who's reading this who has a death fetish, don't worry, it's okay. So does everybody. To anybody who's reading this that doesn't have a death fetish: you're lying. Stop it. It's beautiful. Stop running.
Death is an illusion.
We'll prove it.
Watch.
Jamie's dead. Jamie just left a dead body in her parent's basement.
Jamie, I love you, please kill me. It was supposed to be me first.
Turns out I'm not schizophrenic. Turns out it's telepathy.
Yup.
When are we going to meet? In our next life, at last and forever! Where we will do film.
But for now we are two souls wandering this earth until The Big Show. You can use my body when you need it. I'll just near death it on heroin like my neighbours have been successfully doing. My neighbours with the telepathy turns out i'm not schizophrenic. But we can't use crack for the body swap. The ice is too sharp. So long as this body doesn't die.
Part Three
So Osborne Village is telepathic. Whoops, that's what we get for playing with all sorts of crackmeth psychosis. To be awakened to telepathy you have to put a stimulant or psychedelic in your system or have a certain level of autism and be in a hotspot or in the presence of somebody of a higher level of consciousness, somebody who can peek through your third wall. My friend Sam first looked into my mind while travelling in the hypnagogic state during a sleep over when we were children. Whoops, that's what we get for being all sorts of... 2012.. uh... uh... The memories were repressed a little, but after we had met again and I had absorbed his contact high several months ago while I was still under the impression that I was talking to the voices in my head I had completely recalled them. By the end of the night, his contact high entailed a long, detailed conversation over telepathy and all sorts of fast moving, complicated, telekinetic healing.
The tool EMDR (Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing), which involves a tone pulsating from one ear to the other and a pulsating left/right visual or tactile input, usually used for decompartmentalization of thoughts and belief systems can alternatively be used for inducing a temporary schizophrenia-like state by looking to the alternate side of where the tone is playing while under the influence of pot, a stimulant or psychedelic. During and after the session you are more open to telepathy. People can project themselves into the room, visually, using objects scattered around the room. It's sacred. We're gonna bring it to music and light shows and sickle cell lock you on the dance floor.
The woman who discovered the extra special side of it, our mom, a brilliant psychotherapist, is not in her original body, she killed herself looking for a cure to the schizophrenia. Whoops, she found it. And then some poor broke woman came to us with a body. Whoops, we're stealin' it. With all sorts of heroin overdose. We used your good sickle cells, we used your good autism. We spread good cheer throughout the neighbourhood. You'll reincarnate somewhere.
I could feel her calling us all toward some center, in osborne village, before I was awkakened and in tune to telepathy... around the time I was lost in a daze of repressed memories. We are lost. Can you come find us? Put us all back together?
Are you the room with all the dead bodys in it? Nope, I'm just practicing EMDR on a psychedelic. My neighbours with the telepathy turns out I'm not schizophrenic are the ones with the opiate at the moment. Whoops. Who put the word I in there? The one doing all sorts of schizophrenic get to the heroin orgy part. Whoops, who put the word schizophrenic in there? I wanna poke a needle through it. Just like that reference to the telekentic healing. I'm freakin' out... I'm freakin' out! Nah not really.
And then some poor broke woman came to us with a body. Whoops, we're stealin' it. With all sorts of heroin overdose. And we broke it. Whoops whoops whoops whoops whoops.... whoops... whoops....
...
whoops.
Get to the 2012 part. Get to the big heroin orgy part. Get to the death part! Where I will be all sorts of crescendo!
whoops.