Whale of a tale diamond studded starstuff buried and embedded within the fabric of Time. As it’s cause to this causality let me know when the lemonheads cascade and align. Sour grapes over the moon, grilled cheese torture chamber. Medieval fish heads and this is just some stupid conglomeration of everything that’s going on in my brain. I don’t want it to count, but it counts. Letting you know about this unadulterated stream of everything that’s been going on. Any and all minutiae. The dregs of what has not been filtered out. Because I don’t know what to tell you so I’ll just tell you anything at all, say anything at all. Rubber eraser friction smell. Like carbon, like sulfur. Storybook pages glossy and colorful, decked out in sketches and drawings that I have remembered. Light blues and grassy greens and perhaps a frog or hippopotamus with dialog. Surfboard with a stripe running down the middle. Paranoia melancholy paralysis harbinger drug, safety ripped away and I will not dive too deeply into the Alice in Wonderland puddle because I know if I jump, I may not be able to get out. And once you submerge into the unconscious, that reality, those experiences become distorted and strange. Fisheye lens on acid. Marshmallow.