REALITY IS THE THING I AM LOST IN.

 

THAT MEANS I KNOW MY ENVIRONMENT.

 

THAT MEANS THAT I AM NOT INSANE.

 

YOU NEED TO FIND A BETTER READ-ON FOR IT THAN THAT.

 

You should wait that long between pauses *remembering myself as type* Fred: “Because

 

AS0DJ AS9JD 0A9SJ D0A9SJ D0AS9DJ A0J9J EC0Q39 H[Q83H4 9Q8X34 XH[Q9834HX Q3[84G X9Q3[7G4X9Q[374GX 3G4 QXAO3GX3XA343BVX39[RXAB3[XAR3X GGA3XRG ARX39[8 A3R9[XGA3R[9 8AG3R[VY[RXG{A(GARG A(£{XBGR X(A£G )R£ARH)****£)))))))))”

 

 

 

And that's what he did. He became like them

He stopped on this crazy mission of going insane like Einstein.

 

You can't do that to yourself and even if you can it can make you crazy

Like really crazy

Like people think they don't want to be alive any more

Perhaps thinks of her sister

Black mood fills the room

THis is why we don't think of who we are. Just where we are going

That way we don't have to remember too much.

MOTHER’S WARTIME BLACK MOOD?

Father's Black mood?

HENRY’S ROOM EPISODE

HENRY SAYS, "Maybe she was thinking of Dad"

*THAT's my Voice there it is. That's the one that's doing it.

That's the one who I am.

I have found the thread back to reality.

And I am pleased to be here with you now.

Hi

I am Fred.

 

Pleased to meet you

Peter

WOW THAT’S THE BEST THING

 

Fred thinks, “Yes that's the best”. Non sequitur

 

[Oh well if you can't stay, I'm pleased to see you]

 

 

 

One moment in the car with mum. Told her there was one moment in the film,

Where a women detaches from the present reality to escape their make-believe reality,

by changing conversational tactic. My mum said women are good at that:

changing conversation. Because a man’s ideas move around a lot but she just wants to do one thing. If ever the phrase needed rewording, ‘Men just want one thing,’ must be ‘Women just want Men’. That’s changing.

I am doing it now though. Un-threading the narrative that I remembered throughout my whole life

to be like Frank Zappa who did this with his movie across many timescales.

   Just discovered DON PRESTON was the model for BRAD PITT, transmitted by sight.

Everyone knows the Frank Zappa national acid trip and people thought it was driving everyone crazy.

 

 

‘We’re all learning to be like each other.’

Underpinnings of class unshackled (by war?)

Development of the inner self

[Playing field out in March

One month before my birthday

Poppy seeds on the heath etc.

Dragon snaps in the staff garden]

‘It’s not the staff garden.’ They’re not out here

they can’t own it just for that.

 

Mum’s car – “You can’t tell a whole story from one point of view.”

Yes you can, lots of novels do it.

Mum:            “Yes I suppose I was thinking of an argument.”

Me: /”Oh crap now I have to write my multiple stories from multiple points of view (because people’s views cannot be equated in language, because each person has their own language).I don’t have enough people to do that /”I don’t have enough memory channels (14?) to tell multiple stories from multiple points and remember them without forgetting who I am”/ And then maybe I forgot some of who I was/ the one driving the car and telling people what to do. We became one a bit.

 

I opened up the multiple channels of memory, by stepping inside someone else’s head so I didn’t have to worry about what they’re working on. Just copy them and then I can count myself as another person.

 

It all started when I would think up stories on the shitter – when I could feel all my guts squirming with emotions, and then I would have to remember this shit so when I got upstairs I could get it all down on the computer. The Atari in my room. The stories were intense.

 

That’s no-way fair that Fred gets a computer. (My brother talking about me).

 

And then it came to the Apple Mac. And you could tell what was important to Dad because it always threaded up with other things that he did. The thing that threads all the things together is the main thing. For me it was time travelling in memory. That’s how I knew I was me. Like the viewing of that acid movie. The watcher is the one that holds it together. There is only one strong vision (thread) in that whole film and it’s his, the guy who made it – pushed and pulled with the people around him. When watching the film, I would be him, in order to watch the others, and so I would leave myself in the room to watch and people got tired without me. (My family got bored when I went ‘vacant’ as they saw it.)

 

Standing in the kitchen / breakfast room doorway

Rewinding memories forward and back again to remember who I was – If I could play and listen to all these other people in my head and set which I was hearing next, then I was not one of them, I was the thing watching. That’s how I knew who I was.

 

I stored up a story inside a shit. So people would be amazed when that came out. Like the goose that lays golden eggs. I thought, I could probably do it if I put my mind to it.

My mind is not doing anything else. I have its full resource.

So I buried my feelings as a story inside my guts and leaned forward on the potty to squash myself

up and bury them deep. And then I couldn’t shit for years – I thought I’d discovered the secret of memory.

A second line of thinking throughout my whole life is how to write this story. Like the Frank Zappa movie.

 

 

 

I watched that movie many times.

 

After a party, my mom was quizzed by a child protection lady and showed her I was good at drawing mental shit which she decided I was happy and artistic. The faces of my Mum and her friends like a carnival when they were playing with drugs on the futon on the carpet. The only time I had a gaggle of ladies smoking fags on my bedroom floor they were high like birds. Normally it was just me and Woofy. I become the wise truth child which would have been enchanting had we been sober. Seeing inside people’s love was that night the most incredible reality. Like a freaking crystal I would see the meanings they held in all their suggestions. Their personalities projecting in front of them constellations of feelings to explore like stars in space. Child protection lady, Was I given drugs or only generous love and attention? I responded guardedly in tune with my mother’s body language. They ‘played a hypnotizing game’ and I played it with them, and I can’t remember before waking fromblackout. Something to do with my throat. I did not share. My mind was spun but Amy said the lady was Doctor communism and not guardian angel. Afterward my Aunt came for a couple of months and cooled everything, my Dad’s twin sister.  Those visions were a new responsibility I hadn’t chosen. And was I brave or cowardly to give loyalty to them.

 

The secret of memory is to watch part of the experience from one body position and part of the experience from another.

And then to reproduce the feelings from the experiences by resuming the position and recalling what they mean to you from there.

Then move to the other stage and play around in those memories.

The memories are a model for living. They are, or were for me, the verb ages and syntax of behavior. Walking down the school path remembering the Sunlight / similarity between people’s short expressions and long term behaviour. They are microcosms of life from beginning to end repeated at every scale.

The words I learned were all like that – designed for living. Just do impressions of different people at the times when they got what you wanted. You don’t have to know what any of it means. Actually what you think it ‘means’ is just the feeling of seeing them do it. When you line that passage way of feeling with doors to other feelings it becomes a meaning to you. A place to pass through, go to hide, or run from.

 

The biggest lesson of all of this is that we talk with silence. We look at each other in silence. We control our breath in silence. And then we let out a stream of air that rattles both our skulls into sound, and silently move our eyes, and control our breath by heading silence (forming it with the head), to give pitch and quality and tone to the audible rasp. The message we pass is a small dent in a larger exhalation that we transmit – the controlled sound of tension across membranes, buzzing on a buffer of silent air. So we can hear each other’s bodies carrying the feelings. Tuning forks’ sighing tongs.

 

I’m not going to tell you what’s in mine until you tell me what’s in yours. That’s the way you do it. The message was: The world is not safe. You have to act like you’re being protective of your feelings, like the damn things are rare, ‘otherwise people won’t look after them’.  A cartoon octopus protecting an empty treasure chest. I don’t have anything rare in mine and Frankly I am aware that other people do not in theirs – A few golden goblets and pearls of feelings in their stomach that they were saving up for later. In general not much. That they will tell you. The stuff they don’t want to tell you is not on them, it’s in their gut and it controls what they do or the way they do it. Those are also real feelings, the ones that they can’t protect because they have to express them. Because, they are under the control of them.

 

[You are not responsible for the way you feel. Feelings are just facts. You are responsible for interpreting and acting on them and if you feel judged, know that you are given the benefit of the doubt.]

 

In that way you can see where a person is. Living in their body space. Between unconscious feelings in the gut, which are moving the head and the manufactured feelings in their gut, which they keep and share for comfort.

 

And then we wait for our silence to reach the other person. When it has soaked down into them, we begin to love again,, which will be a further prompt, motion or sound, or the response of the other person. We do this in sync. The wait can be fast or slow but it is not usually quicker than it takes for our own head’s sound-awareness to sink into silence, except when we talk too loud. And when we talk fast and place the words out ahead of us so we don’t have to be there when we say them, people may say to us, ‘You’re getting ahead of yourself’. Perhaps my self is getting ahead of us.

 

 

 

[Flashback Henry saying, “Fred I don't think we should talk this way.”

I was pushing him and we were doing it together.

Talking really fast with Henry so we don't even say words clearly,

just push the emotional levers on a narrow context].

You don’t even need to listen to what the other person is saying

-       And you get a sense of this as a listener in foreign languages –

They are just making corresponding noises without regard. [How to communicate vaguely] Once the context is established [by pointing or otherwise.] – you simply wait for the next action. It doesn’t matter how many words go in between.

That is just a brain diversion because they think you might be interested in what’s going on. But if you are not, you can just listen to their actions. You don’t have to go on the verbal star trip through the human mind.

We are much simpler than that a lot of the time.

 

I used to talk with Amy for hours without ever hearing myself speak.

She would say we were talking but probably I was just listening, but if it felt like talking then what’s the matter.

 

This was the false dicho [at Amy's doorway, hallway ahead, turning to stand half on with the door, through indecision of recording the moment. - Which way was I looking? Does Amy think I'm coming back in? Am I allowed to do that?] the false dichotomy I was aware of.

The brain

And the body.

It’s one thing.

 

The body is the conduit between the soft brain, and the outside world. That’s the dichotomy to mind about – can your soft tissues wiggle your dry tissues to get what they want, or will the dry things harden around the soft parts. Like giant mechanical land-walkers with octopi controllers blinking on their heads.

 

My false dichotomy lead to false conclusions. Namely, that it doesn’t matter what happens to your body only what happens to your feelings. That’s not true – it’s like, not all rabbits are white but all white rabbits are rabbits. [That’s not fair you used the same word twice in the last sentence, therefore you weren't relying on the relationship between words to give them their definitions, Amy: Looking at me as though I am intelligent for a young child. Fred: ‘I don't think you know what you're talking about’ (Lesson - lying). Maybe people don't want me to lie _ Crap! There the idea goes compounding in on itself before I'm even ready to use it, making me lie to myself on it's first occasion. _ Maybe lieing is a lie? People telling truths that they decided against knowing. Like creating a particle anti-particle pair and believing in the wrong half. Maybe I shouldn't lie to other people because it confuses your brain and your heart. It could send people into doom for aeons.] Anyhow: your soft body needs to be calibrated against the air-environment, not thebody-environment.

So to take the rabbits, not all

 

[“Amy's very intelligent too you know. It's not just you. In fact you're not even the best one” (Mum talking about me to me)].

Amy standing by, Expectant look on her face, appeasement for our argument about lying when I had gone back into her room.

Amy: Blushed with guilty, [head cocked to side, half at me, half at mum. “Some of the things he comes out with are great though.”

Fred: “I want to be alone. It's the only way you can't touch me.” [Knowing the power of lying.] Upside-down truth.

 

*This star knew that in forty years time I would come here and realise that the power of lying is in revealing your fears to other people. Actually not a trick to confuse them, but a way to show your weakness to an intelligent observer. So they can right your anti-particle pair. To see if they match your lie back and then you both raise your honesty together.* This is how adults cheer up children, by making them believe that their unhappiness was the real lie, all along, forgetting that they ever believed it to be true.

 

 

Still, I was too afraid to do it though, LIE at that age, probably 4 or 5? I shut-up and blushed and thought of the curtain at the window behind me and looked at the things on the carpet on my right side. Closed my eyes… and there it was again, shooting down the hole into myself. [Interesting note (occurring at Amy's doorway, just before the previous memory at Amy's doorway, but experienced after in the playback): the hole probably refers to myself, to the thing that I can't experience for I am it. The hole is the place where experiences gather. (Outside Amy's door now, just having had a double memoryfor the first time). *People don't like it when I let it run free, so I must TRY to control it.* “People never do things by trying. They always do what they don't try - the thing that happens when they open it, not close it”]. All they try at is not doing anything they shouldn’t whilst what they’re not trying at does itself.

 

Feelings are stacked up like stratifications of nerve time density [Just keep behaving like you want to behave harder and harder until the meat wakes up, because the soft body adjusts to it, the outside world] And on your spectrum of forward and backward, top and bottom, front and rear, you chunk up your experience into sections and organise it along your feeling lines. Hate is stored with hate, uncertainty with uncertainty, feeling with feeling. (That’s what the nightly memory de-fragmentation is for). That way in each of the modes you know what to do. Which modes that are upsetting to you cause you behave in the ways that you behaved before when you were upset. You seek out the same stimulus as your reference for learning more about that thing, to advance your survival. And feelings have the same impulse to grow and survive as you do and its up to you and I to sort out which ones to let go through. And with fear feelings, the stimulus you seek may be deprivation of sensation of certain kinds, which is one valid form of recuperation, but leads to something of a dead-end. Fascination with fear, like love, leads to an ever more embellished , unending skill set of growing life behaviour. At which point you are not afraid so much as knowingly acting in fear. You move inside the fear-feeling, and take it on. [In my futon bed listening to jazz saxophone under a pillow].

 

A fascination with fear-feelings is not a healthy thing in a good place like society that fears fear-feelings. There are people that have that. But those are ‘them’. The ones you’re not afraid of.  Fearful people select their feelings with their fears. For them, the more interesting the experience, the more fear of it they make, the more they calibrate the measurements of their feelings to allow fear that is greater, and greater still. This can be repeated, to inflate their fearful sensations and become better at fearing. You can use any feeling to live by – love, fear, humour, humiliation. Here, something they are not in fear of will be judged as uninteresting by the fears which provide the overridingsense to their  experience, of history, and present priority. It is the beginning of the emotion which they chain their other feelings onto. [Outside views of gravel in front of house: standing in the room, dusty summer day, Henry playing gameboy, leaves drifting in and out the front door, teleporting to other worlds in my bedroom, all alone and by myself to keep myself company]. To be the ones that have not found interestingness in the feared place, the ones that have nothing to offer, IS WAR A DECLARATION OF FEAR, a judgement of a people unknown based on fear of their fears).

 

That’s when I realise fear is the main thing that holds back the entire population. Ancestral dark matter, a guidance framework and barrier.

0 I move through time as I type 0 Forward Back >> Here a bit, down >> forward << Forward Back.

We have to pass it around like the hot potato that we’re too afraid to talk about – A shape-shifting dark matter, black in the human mental plane of deep experience that does not show its face to surface – that we talk about without mentioning, where we draw emphasis not to our words but to our silence, communicate with our unexpressed feelings tentatively and without publication. And as we collectively handle and shape and pass the unconscious self into it, the part of the © living mass hive that we sustain for our living lives [potty outside the kitchen again, probably watching Frank Zappa], that we are aware of and which we occupy, © we liberate the black fear mass from parts of ourselves. We walk past it. [Mum (as myself in my own mind): oops, you walked past it, that memory (by the car, on the gravel out front, going to school). But I didn't though, I just forgot what it was (I didn't forget I was walking as mum but I didn't know how to judge it, because she was walking back and to the right of me, and I am living this as her, so I see her coming up to the door and I don't know how to reconcile the difference between where to step in order to meet up with her on the other side and cancel the relative difference. ÷ That moment I inferred that all difference is relative. ÷ In the car seat now / it didn't stop happening. I just stopped becoming aware of it, which is a neat trick / look up to mum / if I can do it though *simultaneity with previous mother car seat memory {and losing my identity} (this must have been going on for days now)* ] Make a drawing PAUSE  car memory / do a drawing / onseeing her face make out that that’s what I wanted, the computer, when bullshit I don’t want that he’s just my father ‘same as he is to you’ / her husband /  don’t wrinkle your nose like that / computer bullshit / I guess that’s what I have to become even though no one, none present-company, me sitting on this side of the car seat {blue fibre plastic, burnt memory, death inside the car. [I believed I died quite a lot, because I would lose consciousness, but people at the kitchen tabletold me it’s just a memory, ‘that's what you're remembering and forgetting/ If anything Fred — (Then I take Amy or Henry's identity (they have started to blur / which maybe makes me older and more mature / in my mind). It was probably Amy in which case she was like 7 and I was 2, or Henry and now I am [Mum's voice:] “You’re not dying” (and I was inside them when they said it, which hurt my brain a lot))]} and you sitting on that side  THE COMPUTER is on the seat’s arm-rest meta-formed between us, wants it. FUCK, THE COMPUTER the first time I had sweared inside /?* She’s gone in to the house. I’m still in the car on my own. /*? My own head. / Why am I always on my own when I notice this, alone / Because that’s the only time I’m by myself, when I am alone and can’t take up another identity / so I have put my identity inside myself and model my viewpoint from there and keep myself company with my own experiences. *House?*

Sleep alone in car. Carried in aware but not telling to bed. Not fair, no talking MY GOLDEN RULE. *When I wrinkle my nose it doesn’t mean what you think it means. I’m just a boy, I don’t know what itmeans. I just do it because other people do it. Mum: “YES I SUPPOSE YOU COULD SAY WE ALL DO IT LIKE THAT BUT THAT DOESN’T HELP ANYBODY”* If you aren’t allowed ^friends just ran away,alone, games-pitch, walking back from games on the far-field, slow, warm windy walk, alone .^ to wrinkle your nose when you don’t know what it means then you can’t do anything, you can’t escape *Fear CAGE car seat talking about computer with Mum*  [Garden, playing games with 4 other friends <can't count the number of individual identities. Can't sort them from 24 points in my head> at James Pickett's house] you can’t escape when you can’t do anything that people don’t want to see. Then you are in their prison. FEAR BASTARDISES MY LANGUAGE, I MAKE IT BRIEF FOR MYSELF TO BE HATEFUL AND TERSE WITH THEM. I make it worse for myself to make it worse for them. That’s good for nobody. The death fear body? Back out the other side of the memory.

Now is the point in time just after thing happen, just before they don’t happen [outside my head] / Breakfast table high chair 9) I shouldn’t be remembering all this, it’s because I’m special, I was born wide-awake 8 ) counting every moment 7) alone before my time 6) death at last 5) time alone is time apart 4) I’m never going to remember all this 3) this where I die 2) INTERNAL SCREAM I want to be back as my mother! 1)  Death in light 0) /.

Now is the point in time just before things happen, just after they don’t happen [inside my head]. You can move it around and get different causalities from the same events.

Now is the point in time just after thing happen <˚|˚> just after thing happen inside my head.

Now is the point in time just after I haven’t thought of it [someone else and AMY sunlight on golden hair table cloth warm I love it when / *** & ideas inside of my own head

Now is the point in time just before this is the thing <˚| I get to make up what this is |˚> I thought of happened inside my own head.

 

Happen is when the thing occur

The thing is what appear inside my head

The thing come from other people head

The thing come from my head

Now is defined.

A) Past / … The thing happen in my head  /  Now  /.

The thing happen in other people *A* head … /  Now

You can pass it on really easily. Yes, parcel-pass it on. Chain reaction like lighting fire.

B) The thing happen in my head / Now  / The thing already in other people head

The thing comes from other people, not from me, I was in a cage

TO STOP YOU MOVING!

Therefore . . . B2) The thing happen in other people’s heads  / The now / The thing happens in my head / The now

 

I am the one that points to me.

When we move.

I can't believe I didn't know / think // tun 88 black void co  = time =  nciseness 88  nel // /  that

We think as one

Sneeze

I need to put my time before myself.

 

| Time |

 

I get to choose when the self pops out to create a now in time.

My reference to it tells me who I am

And puts experience into past or the present / future

 

 

a                  Occurrence   |   Time   |   Self

 

b                  Occurrence   |   Self   |   Action    |    Time    |   Self

 

Time is all the particles that fizz down your spine.

 

d   Self  |  Time  |  Occurrence

from my point of view

or, from others

d2   Occurrence  |  Time  |  Self

 

d / d2   =  Occurrence | Self | Time  | Self | Occurrence

•••?????

 

 

 

Lyrics to Herbie Hancock, Sunlight.

 

 

 

SUNL

If you run a-way and hide

It'll be hard-er to decide

For you always have to try

Somehow you'll find your way

 

To give in

Start again

If you look into your eye/life

You'll find the sunlight

 

You'll find you can make it

If you try

You can make

 

…Buy a new house

Learn how to make friends

Learn to be a better person

Make life in time not in thought

Go forth and multiply (times)

Work as a carpenter

..

 

You will find

You been okay

If you try

 

SUNLIGHT

The Sunlight

The Sunlight

 

WAlK INTO THE SUNLIGHT

?????•••

 

I'm still in the thing. The occurrence

Because time is an occurrence inside

A gentle rush of little particles, passing up and down your spine

 

That way I can discover experience from both sides, from the way up and the way down.

That alienates me as an observer, slow to react, in time. Occurrence is the farthest extremity of experience.

 

??// If time is my hole what am I inside of? //??

\/ If am alone what am I good for \/

==== Be the occurrence ====

 

d2 / d  = Time | Self | Occurrence | Self | Time

Sunlight in the kitchen and breakfast room. Peace, time and oneself.

 

(8) That Oh That: Kitchen mum talking to me unknown others at the table / And I knew the sense [Feel] in which they were there < * < | < < < < / keys, gay marriage, < | taste the garlic | > abortion, gay rights / > > > > | > *in the room – That’s the past.

 

Birth

< | | >

<˚|˚>

<–  –>

< |    | >

< | <<<<   >>>> | >

< | <<<< < | <<<  <˚| Birth is ne <<  <| <<  >> |>  >> ver ending |˚>  >>> | > >>>> | >

 

Who is trying to stop me moving?

Nobody. (Mum:) [me in high chair] Just your mind telling you that.

(Me thinking / the Now:) ["{No {the way amy says it}}, mum"! ] That’s your mind!

And I knew that one came from me because there were no other people around to hear it.

 

 

In the room / it’s like that sunlight on the wall.

 

I love my art teacher, and we talk like we are the forces that hold the blood cells together in our veins like halls, her and I, taking over human bodies and the art department. [At the moment Mary’s skin, teeth and hair is talking in the deathly culture of politeness agreements and knowledgeable reference. Animated coating of dead greenish yellow on her glowing red blood vessels makes a pinkish brown skin tone. Drab clothing naked radiance.

 

Idols are real until they become imaginary. It is the failure to imagine them which keeps them up in the sky.]

 

Mary, we showed the way to each other, in love and mixing skin tones. The best thing was her ability to connect with people so that ART ˚|˚ AT SCHOOL WAS THE MOST PERSONAL AND INCLUSIVE EXERPIENCE I HAD EVER KNOWN.

 

Wild imagination is the arsenal we use to respond to chaos with ordered behavior.

 

Falling backward down the black hole looking up. Pain. Fear. Anger. Regret Loneliness. Bitter pain alone with time to remember what life was like outside of it. Big visions. Live in memories of the future. Backdate it. Catch up when I’m ready to meet my self. Travel across time split in two, to reunion in the present.

 

I was a garbage truck for emotions, and I didn’t have any of my own.

 

 

 

CONSUMED