man, OP, you're channeling William Faulkner and his "stream of consciousness"

Did you just start a thread accidentally instead of replying?

quote:

---

not clear what you're trying to say unless I take a hit of purple haze

---

I am assuming you already did. And remember, the brown acid that is circulating around is not specifically bad, but it's turning everybody into a bum trip. Please be advised we don't take that.

quote:

---

don't know how that happened. I was trying to remember Faulkner's name and that I was replying. Hell, I'll be 70 next month. My mind is still good and my memory is good, but it can take me a second or two.

I don't remember starting a new post. Ha!

---

We all have moments like that; I'm a spry 64 and have them.

Oddly I have 100s of letters between my great grand paw and William Faulkner who worked together

Along the disparate strands of thoughts, and the outright delusions of grandeur forced upon somnolent minds buoyed in their port amongst the slips and jetties of the mad hopes of the Taurus season and blatant lights, serene visuals, reflections of white and spray in the cobwebs of Internet trolling and 13 second reels rained down on practice fields, and the dynamite ablations caressed on the crest of salvaged banners and wreaths collected in long form and short form across the vast sheathes, encapsulating and recapitulating, progesterone, estrogen, serotonin and aphasia nearly scalloped amongst the unleavened potential of a green leviathan matched out and maxed out, listening to the harps and serene tresses of arpeggio’s and harps under undying fields, reflecting clouds, exploding into lightning and forest fires igniting the ancient forces underneath where Titans bang on the shadows of Colossus and the terra-cotta prefixe overhang mirroring the empty shade of an imagined past in an unknown torment, a glorified inglorious bastard, unrefined, unrelenting and un-absorbed in the modus operandi, a faint heritage, a loose lethargy, an adopted ignorance. Apparent orphanage, sinking midst, the crumbled towers of Shiloh and the wilderness and lookout mountain refraining from excessive celebration in Korea, abominations set amongst districting indignities, gonorrhea curriculum and Manila, finding out you can take a punch and releasing 400 years on a naked lunch, a rally for United undulations, liberated from the obligations of normalcies and expectancies and excess tribulations, amongst the Grove of artificial and staid degradations, unraveling the apparent Pharisees: underlying, undressed, unforeseen, vulnerable terrain.

You are a marplot.
Geaux fighting tigers

The voices in his head.