9/8/09: Chapter 8 (The Lengthy Revival!)

I love everything. My name happens to be the name of my ancient grandmother, Bellafonte Joseph Joseph. My descendants are Joseph and Samuel. I feel as though I am corrupted. Pitch me a tent and name me Israel. GO! Go away from here and shallot the campus beneath my wall of xenophobic antelope carcasses. Wield that rambunctious pig leaf. Untie my shoelaces and begin a new time in a new name with a new face and a new being. Chop my liver to bits and scream my name over the mountain tops. Gleefully.

Help me sandwich my fear of rabbis, without coaching my mentors and shielding my face from the blazing sun with my arms wrapped around my lute and the cherubs cheer wildly at the sound of the day. Happy happy happy all beavers gather in spirit of the times. Pulpit, extrudes plaster casts of egg yolk and sifted wheat flaps. Chew it all up and sift through the pulpits. Crew cut angry lima beans, craft the chopper from hydrogen and steel. Wield the flax, unwind my child, slip down onto the mantle with your hair all wound up nice 'n' tight just like a fat elf. Wafting that lion from within like a lion buried deep in my flesh. Punctured by happy steel and flesh mongrel, charred to a small fleshy pulp by Steven. Kill Stephen with a blunt axe, slowly tie him to a little mouse and saw off his legs.

Cut up the remains with tweezers and shit that slab softly. Okay, onto the wielding lioness. Shoot off the legs and sew up the intestines and wield and wield and wield until tomorrow. Kill my uncle with a solid knife and slather him up with oxygen! Flatulence and pain, shit the shaft, crop up the old antelope with your face and your solid posthumous ditched blade and throw yourself to the wind and rain. I open my throat and the words come forth wildly without fail. Death, life, pilpits.

I am slipping off the edge of a normal death ledge, but only a little bit because I am covered with soft undulating filth. Crop my filthy hands with your profs lemon heads and task your little elk grandmother until she wounds you with her task force. I am totaLLY EIDRINF ODD INTO SWm lNS QHWEW I My bw BLW RO QEIRW BUR INATWs could reixk (trick? truck?) myself into wielding the mGIX QWpona NS HAHOORINF MY LITTLE DFR

ummmmmm never mind that one

so how should I accept what is happening to me in this life? I hope nobody dies, but then again I hope they all die without fail, shit the shaft, copy my mother exactly, perfectly, this is my body which is given to you.
crap on my hilt. shave the funnel till it rots. unhook the main valve and shoot through it with soft steel. soft things and mild walnut shakers. they are rare but delicious; smoke them sternly but not without lots of force and well meaning oddballs in the cabinets and in the potatoes and without fail killing my potatttttoes and rhythm was a big attribute i write down about these little beautiful women. i am eating the dead with my fists, and this has changed my view of the world, but only arkansas, right? smith says call the taxi cab but I say don't let them tell you what to do, stick it to the man

I don't care what they say, just do it good right in there and fight 'em, just get right in there of it's all gonna be difficult from here. I mean i'm sorry and all but can't we just get a long and have a good life? well, if you have to work in tradition. i am a basket ball player, my job is to communicate, to let them know what's right and wrong. it's not easy to do, but i manage without letting hip bones do the walking. cut me off and send me free but only to the penitentiary in the neighborhood. alihieiqnq 2i5h 5h3 p4orw, bu5 wh3 wqyw wh3 eo3w lqk3 i5, i5 iw m3sido bu5 qee3e mo43333. i4n4 ,3wwqh3w 23h3 upi 3;3qb3 qme o5
w 3qwu 5p dq;; ,3. kiw5 5q[ pm5 j3 r;qww 5j433 5o,3w/ o pm;u

(I just decoded most of that last part as best I could, and it came out as "alihieiqnq with the profs, but she says she does like it, it is mexico but added moreeee. i4n4, 3wwqh3w 23h3 you 3;3qb3 and it
was easy to call me. just tap on the glass three times. i only")

kill my uncle and use his body to feel up the president. tell him i said hi. i feel bad about the whole incident. i mean, really, it's not a big deal. i haf I have reached the point where i can no longer speak to the truths and i kill for a lotta money but here dwells with money, but me? i am hungry but not nearly as hungry as the maRMOT. crass ferret hung up on the wall for display, killing and meddling with my man faceeeeeeee, don't look at me. but in the high school experience, i love bennington, he located my serious flowers wiifish thgouth the pine needles and trap the minds in with the jouoytyen he gets to the bottom of this and nails his table cloth for a ksaf;ff i wish someone rould we canked really our of hn you yeah but i really want longer hair so i can study abd u;tu dib;t jbiw how to say tg

i don't know how to say this in english but dub ny89N9 I LEAVE ON EXCURSIONS AND RETURN WITH GROCERIES AND POST OFFICE GOOD. AAAnyway wouldn't i love to see the day when marisol wields her pocket knife and calls my name and deny the bear, bot save and retain common room traist and seeing people in there really brings out the jesus in me. i feel as longullii have a tendency to meet old people and they tell me things U;n image i liija a bigSome call me big granite roof other trace IJ UWT DQN'T MANAGE TO FIFUW4 ON THE X

8/22/08: Chapter 7

(A miniature one.)

Big ol' sausage sacks. Hello, mister sausage sacks. Let's wrap your head in gunpowder and chew it up till it's good 'n' ripe. Yeeeeeeeah, let's see that fat slab o' cow carcass. Flop it about, concerned only with how it turns out, but ripening it by the second. Slap it till it ripens. That's my rule of thumb.

Hey, sopping wet ferret, let's a play a game of dice, shall we? I wager you could probably build a larger and more sturdy basketball hoop than this one.

8/19/08: Chapter 6

(A particularly long chapter.)

Wide trails to nowhere. Nice and wide. They stretch far, and Hamilton attempts to follow them with ease, although he has not the proper skills. His feet touch the ground with sharp thuds, piercing the air with a thick breeze, smelling of granite dust. Miles down the line, he unties his shoes to let in some air, but his shoes fall off and he dies from the poisoned air. Buffalo roam these parts, and he must avoid them with care. Pay attention to the buffalo, he thinks. We need to protect the buffalo.

Ned protects his face from bees, using the glove he inherited from his grandfather. Ned feels through the thick, bee-infested air, reaching for a spot where there are no bees, but instead trees. Ned is not successful at all, but he finds himself. Ned, who has been fighting bees, finds his inner self. Ned walks, talks, and fights with bees menacingly. His hands wave, and he slits his own throat. Bees swarm towards the deep cut, and Ned sighs, relaxing into his easy chair. Ned has only been alive for sixty years, but his heart feels numb. His arteries feel clogged. He feels the woods, the air, the trees, the snakes that roam his yard. His life is a dream. Buffalo. Buffalo roam these parts. I find this to be fascinating. Ned fastens his belt, and rides off into the distance on a horse named Joel.

The barber hoards peanuts in the back room, saving them for the big day when the customers will flood in and request peanuts and haircuts. "Haircuts and peanuts" his sign reads. Big ol' barber, grazing in the fields. Barber flocking his customers like sheep, using his long cane to prod them and push them away. Into the fields they travel. Barber forces bags over their little heads, tells them that he has written pages and pages of poetry. He does not tell them any more. He sheds tears into the night, builds a fire, and sleeps.

Bill WATSON LIVES IN A WELL-MAINTAINED SHACK IN DOWNTOWN MISSISSIPPI. IT LOOKS LIKE ONE OF THOSE OLD SHACKS YOU WOULD SEE IN AN OLD MOVIE, USUALLY CONTAINING THINGS FROM THE PAST. IN THIS CASE, HIS HANDS BLEED AND HIS NECK reveals his muscles. Watson knits by the stream for his wife, who waits. He returns with knitted fabric, she smiles and purchases a packet of fleece from him, gets to town only to find her wallet is full of fat and slapstick comedy. Bought and sold, she files herself away into the truffles. Her fingernails riff on the tabletops as her motherly instincts kick in and fly her out to a special car made especially for mothers like her.

Magic men often flood, but in this case they have been gouged with a pretzel. Bug spray is used to fend off bugs.

Bill ties his garden hose to one end of a stick, and pokes his eyes out with it, causing bleeding and death to everyone in the surrounding area. Big ol' pails of cement. Bill brings in the pails, but forgets his token and his delivery service. She finds her way into the cellar, but he is dissatisfied with this and he kills her. Her corpse lays on the stairwell, covered in cement, bulging fat leaking out of her face. Bullets are fired, guns are dismantled, belt clips are forged from steel, iron bars are fixed onto other fat slices of iced metal. Big dolls made out of fluff and sidewalk chalk spray down the porch steps without wetting down the clothing. Marbles fall down the stairs, and apples are costing a lot more these days. Help me, I'm caught in fat. Let's eat tonight. We'll pack up and leave for Michigan. Hordes of goats, through with their struggle, eat themselves and gorge on fat muffins. Let's go tread down on middle maniacs. Mitch is an honorable man with very little hair on his scalp. Starting from back at square one, let's move to Chicago to film a script about llamas. He sits down in a leather chair, folds his arms in his lap, recites big poetry smiling gleefully, orange onions sprout magical dye and chop themselves into onion bits and particles of sandpaper men. I was meant to be chopped into onion bits. Let's order four limos to shoot their neighbors.

Will decided he was finished. Done. He mildly wished he could garden, but his eyes were sunken and his chops were musty. His eye sockets were filled with grease, but he could carry a ton of barbed wire in his teeth. Barbers bears beaches herrings. Musical chairs, build chairs out of metal. Horses and chairs.... Only big bags may be taken out and stored in undisclosed locations. Bitter extract was formed from men on Mars. Multiple men on Mars with rifles, holding other items such as sheep and lions. I think we should build a nice raft out of plywood and travel by ocean to the other side of the earth. Bubbbbb burbling brook barrel bearings, don't lose your bearings. Hardened fat. Oblong chair particles. Ovular magic tie-dye flaps. Bombard my limp flesh with poles, but be careful not to dream of leopards. Sharp chunks of lead pierce my ears as I scream. Loaves made by gods for the unholy phlegmatic sorcerer. Uncanny produce was meant for market owners, not old men with chainsaws. Only old men own chainsaws. Let's get serious, brother. Olaf stores his pens in his bed at night, but his face is unshaven and fat. His belly bulges with excrement, and his tongue is pierced with saliva, dairy products are his favorite. Be kind to Fred, he has experienced fat. His chin is oblong and tray shaped, with a twist like an ape or a dog... Bears trample live ocean lands with their large cement paws, butting into every situation with vigor and force, only stopping to forge onions into his bar candia. He furthers his progress by eating an onion filled with meat and cheese and fresh produce. Baboons for mansions, hear me? Gathered in the beds where they hope they will find their eyes shut and not open, but their mothers listen and reveal that they are playing fiddle for their own ears... Let's not get too serious, now, though. Marfa is a wonderful city, where we camp a lot in the winter time. Let's organize a camping trip for my grandparents. I'm afraid that my aunt will be angry.

8/13/08: Chapter 5

Old Jeff decided that he'd had enough, so he worked his way on over to the shed, grabbed his pistol, and went to work. He sawed his pistol in six different places, starting with the chaplain, working his way down to the holster. When he had completed this, he shoved his face into his friend's face and combined the two powers into a cosmic THUMP, resounding throughout the world. This was his moment.

Bells chimed, thoughts rang loudly through the small town, baggage was claimed and speech was spoken, thoughts exchanged, bottles broken, trees climbed, legs beaten with sharp hammers... Such was the essence of the town where Bill spent most of his time.

Derringer worked in a construction crew. His job was to melt down all the metal and use it to build metal creations. This job required much deep thought and creativity, and he exhausted every ounce of his effort working towards finding the perfect metal design system. He started with a wrench in one hand and some pliers in the other. He went to work with both of his hands. Throughout his project, his hands gained dirt and extruded heat, but this did not stop Derringer from barraging metal with dangerous toxins and fluids of all sorts. He threw meat into the fire. He severed the arms of lasting soldiers.

Slips of paper were stuffed into tiny envelopes to be mailed to a faraway headquarters in Minnesota, the land of peppermint slabs and oxygen bars. Breaded chicken is stuffed into tiny envelopes to be mailed far away to a small official office in Massachusetts. Little known fact about Massachusetts: happy people live there, but they are surrounded by big ol' chipped chunks of hair and oats.

8/12/08: Chapter 4

Little Alice was bemused by her truncheon, which she had salvaged from a massive heap of salvageable pigs in blankets. Little Alice often visited the store, which she considered to be important for her career in broomstick functioning matters. She worked full time at the broom band museum building cakes for the employees and shooting unwanted passersby. Her passion was passion fruit and syringes full of paste, which she would set out in the burning sun until they would become gray as a result of the massive slabs of gray bags and paste substitute, which she would shove underneath her father's skin at night, much to his annoyance. Uncomfortably, she was a tablet, which implies that she wins that game until dawn.

Millipede intestines are quite interesting when you look at them closely. They have intricate little details that you miss when you merely gaze upon their apparent beauty. They close and open in such ways as the next ones.

Open your eyes. They resemble raw eggs. They turn themselves inside out and scream phrases to your soul.

Horrible Sam owned a small replica of the most famous lozenge supply company in the world. Horrible Sam owned the universe. Horrible Sam drove his cars into big buildings and caused violence. He was a horrible man. Sam decided to purchase a big ol' stack of beans at the store, but instead of eating them in the sttrasdtitional sense, he buried them outside in his large yard which contained sixteen ferrets and two hundred trillion geese. His friends hated him because of his geese. "Those geese are gonna disrupt the whole world's flow!" they would say to him, over and over again.

Sam drove his truck into a yard full of wasabi and slabs of acorn paste. He thought, "this is so bad." He salvaged his apes and sold them to Sanchez. Millions of ruins lay before him, covered in waste and sewage of all sorts.IiIi LAl HDbh lHb

8/3/08: Chapter 3

Horrible blasts of silence fill the gaps in the village. Three children sit, unattended, ready to rumble with the boss. Every time the boss says GO, they all run to the finish line and become proud of themselves. I feel as though I am almost more proud than they are, since the dirt is so red and the children sing like rain pouring down into the meadow. Every time a drop of rain falls, an angel becomes a pile of dust and dry fungus. That is how the old adage goes among the village folks. They all believed in magical antioxidants, which would help them with their breathing and their general respiratory health. They sucked fruit down in one gulp, and chilled their bones to the core with pride. I still sense the racket burying itself deeper and deeper into my face and hands. My bones are chilled with the stories of millions. I still believe in the childrens' calm, clear minds, but I wish they would learn to correct their own ways of herding cattle and other live stock. Battles often take place in the middle of fields. They sometimes grow from deep inside root vegetables, formed without a task at hand and a lemon at ease, bottomless. As if a rug determines a space in a vast vest, vermin are forsaken by witchcraft and lions.

My mandarin orange is covered in paste. Always has been, always will be. It's a thick paste, like a white man in a white shop. White men purchase drab furniture and compile it into a blazing collection of organized milk and eggs. Muffins are common, but during winter everyone enjoys a good cup of ice and soda. Millions of people receive and drink malt scotch by the dozen pounds or sarcophagus-mixed margins of pancakes ashits. Syringes are tired of doing so much work, but I have never grown tired of grand old grumbling oat brand flakes

DESOLATE neighborhoods stretch for miles, barren expanses of excess land, sold by men with beards, overtaken by women with heads and legs and feet. My curtains overlap occasionally, which I find to be a wonderful reason, only in June and July, which are the strongest types of years we have in this meager country. I've watched it all and I've seen. It has changed me.

Margaret lived in a small pound cake, soft, fluffy, dead. She needed to experience life within a pound cake, just because it was convenient and stable by the dozen. Billy should. Margaret lives inside a peach pit during the winter days, but since every day is equally unreasonable, she reads a good book about lozenges and fat and stupidity. Yeah, we need service in the daylight but not in the yard, when it rains my friends do not enjoy their backyard, which is large, Don't ask me to fill your papers out, don't ask to change your friends' diaperssssssssssss;

Large, expensive carts drive or fifteen miles to the west coast to seek sunshine and smaller My train that I own operates on a say-to-ensure to cook out with them on at least one obfuscation. If not, we needed to use the cutting board for a cool effect involving Natasha.

8/2/08: Chapter 2

A diner sits atop a steep hill, awaiting the arrival of an old, tattered man. He wears his coat backwards. He claims it helps him to better experience the world. "When I wear my coat backwards," he claims, "I experience the world in such a better way..." He reflects on cold, distant memories of his years in the Ozark Flats, where he first discovered his favorite game: twittlin' sticks. Twittlin' sticks consisted of a pain-killer infused with four ramblin' oat bags. A cocktail of these things. Twistin'.

The befuddled pilgrim scratches his head with vigor, and decides that he needs a nice, sturdy new house. He thinks twice, and then sets off to work with his family in mind. His family has helped support him through these times of need, but he often complains because they make him pay high prices to consume dead production fats. Everyone knows the pilgrim as a man of his word. He buys property with the flick of a clip.

A tired pharmacist decides to set down his old white hat before leaving his long-endured position at the pharmacy. He struts around, taking in the cold air, milling about. He finds comfort in knowing that someday he will return to the pharmacy, regaining all his formerly appreciated pleasures. Thump! He clumps down on the floor like a brick sinking to the bottom of the ocean. His coworkers say, "What can we do?" The man who runs the place, eyes like ovens, whips out his big ol' flamethrower, uses it like a toy, sad pharmacist turned to dust and charcoal before sets of wary eyes. Employees help carry the body into a van shaped like a hot dog, which is the custom. Ideas flow into their minds, and they form a plan. They bury his body in the sky, deep within the largest cloud. He is safe there, they say.

Fat, sullen boy in an old trailer park. He wants to live a life of pain. He sets out to live his painful life with strong values. They weigh him down like a toaster, but he feels his way through. The boy wishes to live like a king. He takes a quick stroll around the perimeter of the park, but his friends wander lazily, fishing out stories to tell. They tell stories of their times in the trailer park, each exchanging their best anecdote. A subtle switch to the ways of the men who live beside the park, they come to the conclusion that they should build a farm. They purchase animals of all sorts. Big, small, tough, weak, extra fat, extra chunk-filled, oil-rigged, manufactured with pride, etc. I know, it's a lot of that kind of thing. Millions of children flock to the animals and store them within their chests.

A college student rustles leaves by walking down a walkway, creating a path that was already there. He thinks to himself while chewing. He chews on a small piece of something from his past, denying its existence and spitting it out quickly. His mouth forms the words "Alpine Forest." He is as sure of himself as a cat is sure of a kitchen. Newfangled piles of dirt and crescents. He ties the string to a strand while bellowing and growling. His fortress falls to the ground. Plummets. To the ground. Mmmm... His muscles bulge as he slowly lifts the delicate wrench, but he only needs to set it down before playing resumes. Belt cautious belt. These games are only for the ones of us who desire to chip into it. The time we have is limited, let's stick with other times, when we are not as recreational like other kids. I tried to break out of the household, but we managed to track down a belt. These muffins are overdone by a lot, Fred. Oh, same here. Let's enjoy a cooked steak with beef juices and salmonella atop a mound of meat and sausage. A steamin' favorite, and let's not forget that jf kk; shabby chairs.... and stools close by... How 'bout a nice, quick, rhythmic dance, it's s Let's earn a bachelor's degree in such a fine art as canoeing or tennis. Who can store us inside his small pocket Let's form a rotisserie, and chop it well. NICE and well. How can it be so well? How can it stay inside the lodging area for

8/1/08: The One That Started It All

A man walking through a bookshop notices that he is wearing no clothes. He feels as though he should do something about this, since people often wear clothes in the world, and he is not wearing them. He slits his wrists and yells, "Look! Look at me!" Minds screaming, pain reeking from soft, porous flesh. Withered palms. Shriveling. Screaming. Blood gushing. He slits his wrists, and screams. The pain he feels is pain unique to him. He holds up his bleeding wrists. "I'm livin' the life!" he screams. "I'm livin' it up!"

A bartender realized that he had miscounted someone's change, so he ran outside after them, yelling as if his life depended on it. The bartender clasped 82 cents in his hand as he chased the man whose change had been accidentally removed. Bartender running towards the man. The man turns around and shows his vest. He is a stoic man, reveals his vest to be woven with golden threads in purple fabric. He shows stoically that he is bleeding. He lifts his hand away sternly, staring ahead. His chest is bleeding so much. The bartender shoves the money against the man's chest, shows him who's boss. Man says, "Is there a stream nearby, in which I may wash my wounds?" Bartender points: there. Wallets empty out. Slicing off the keys to the car, the bills from yesterday, the apricot remains from Saturday's insanity.

Fish smell wafts through hazy streets. Men in suits walk as if nothing is wrong. Everything is malfunctioning, and men in construction outfits and hardhats repair the world's blemishes. A little girl tries to use a swing set, and it breaks; not just one swing, but the whole set, collapses. Old, tinny horns release squeals of delight from nooks and crannies in the pavement, between trash bins and piles of shit. Benny looks fondly down each alley; out of curiosity, he says. You know he's full of shit. He keeps his pants in one alley, and he sniffs them out every day. He is a worker at a sausage factory. I believe he functions as a compact mobile coffee drinker. Meaty fire hydrants. Big ol' meaty fire hydrants. Times of need we suffice to say that we love money. I love the times when everyone was nice and thoughtful and typed another thing for us to live. I feel like the trash has been taken to the outward rhinoceros. When I am finished, he has to open the old white door and kill a man. I will give a lecture with pride, as if I had managed to prepare it beforehand in the alley. Shift your footing, please. I am happy to be your assistant today. I am happy because she is an artist. It's handy and she's cute. No need to be smart, he's old and white. Noww. I own a chocolate donut shop. Only troubadours live here. Special. I say just let her live, but you know how we roll in New youk, bebb

About This Project

I was falling asleep late one night, when I had a sudden burst of inspiration. I decided to try a new writing experiment. I held my laptop in my lap and laid in bed with my head propped up against the wall and my eyes closed. Then I proceeded to type stream-of-consciousness (whatever came to my mind at the moment) at a brisk pace without pausing at all. As I drifted off into a slumber, my fingers continued to type, and when I regained consciousness, I was confronted with a screen full of completely unfamiliar text, generated entirely by my subconscious mind. I had no memory of writing any of it; it was as though I had recorded my dreams as they had occurred.

Since that night I have continued to practice this craft, refining my techniques and making new realizations about the process. (For example, I have realized that as I descend deeper into my subconscious, the writings become gradually more violent and vulgar.)

I showed my writings to some friends, and they suggested that I share them with the public, so here they are now for your reading pleasure and amusement!

Enjoy.

-Zach O.

P.S. It should be noted that...

1. No drugs are used to aid this project.

2. The VAST MULTITUDE of typos present in the original files have been corrected for easier reading.

3. While my fingers did type the words displayed on this page, the views and content expressed by these writings do not necessarily reflect my own conscious thoughts or opinions.