...in honor of my newest catch phrase, I'll post this. You see, when you are floating through life in a cytoreality, and you're quick to get caught up in lowly, subversive forms of temptation (let's see, new age animal orgies, grim reveries of demon dancers, summertime Halloween parties on mushrooms, paranoid terrors of poisoned beer, elephant hunting, Argentine Tango, radical tantric accounting, and arson, to name a few) it's difficult to sleep, much less concentrate on the mundane responsibilities that separate you from a life on the street. So you need an exercise to keep your mind rooted in reality, the mainstream, if you will. No matter how fucking lost you are, you are still here, wherever that is, and you must succumb, to a certain degree, to contemporary custom. I used to think of sports or pop music, lying on my back reciting the Atlanta Braves lineup, bench and pitching staff, or thinking of the biggest billboard hits of the 80s. But now I utilize a simpler ritual. I chant. No, not in a Gregorian folk lament or Tibetan hymn. I just take something that I've been saying a lot to myself recently, and I repeat it, over and over. Eventually my mind feels light and breezy. I masturbate. I rest. MONDO BIZARRO! MONDO BIZARRO! MONDO BIZARRO! I am ready for my bath now. Shakes.
...in honor of my newest catch phrase, I'll post this. You see, when you are floating through life in a cytoreality, and you're quick to get caught up in lowly, subversive forms of temptation (let's see, new age animal orgies, grim reveries of demon dancers, summertime Halloween parties on mushrooms, paranoid terrors of poisoned beer, elephant hunting, Argentine Tango, radical tantric accounting, and arson, to name a few) it's difficult to sleep, much less concentrate on the mundane responsibilities that separate you from a life on the street. So you need an exercise to keep your mind rooted in reality, the mainstream, if you will. No matter how fucking lost you are, you are still here, wherever that is, and you must succumb, to a certain degree, to contemporary custom. I used to think of sports or pop music, lying on my back reciting the Atlanta Braves lineup, bench and pitching staff, or thinking of the biggest billboard hits of the 80s. But now I utilize a simpler ritual. I chant. No, not in a Gregorian folk lament or Tibetan hymn. I just take something that I've been saying a lot to myself recently, and I repeat it, over and over. Eventually my mind feels light and breezy. I masturbate. I rest. MONDO BIZARRO! MONDO BIZARRO! MONDO BIZARRO! I am ready for my bath now. Shakes.
