There is a particular mood that finds its way into my experiential field now and then.   When it’s gone, I forget it was ever here.   This fact is actually a characteristic of the mood, intrinsic to its nature.   Yes, this mood has a Nature.   I only know about it when it’s here; it cannot be remembered in absentia. Yet the mood itself is a memory. When the mood appears, I experience a memory of having always known everything, and having always been perfectly secure.   Under the spell of this mood, I see the clenching cosmos erupt, spewing black and golden bile into my eyes.   Nothing is wrong, and I am in flames.   

There’s a smoking black log next to me, usually, when this mood takes the stage.  It smells nice.   Hickory.   I preen my vocabulary and yell at a pair of books, but that’s because what I absolutely must say hasn’t appeared yet.   I sit on a comforter with an attitude of expectation, having put a digital release on the internet.   

No one seems to see all the things that I see, which makes me feel sad and lonely.  Right now, I see everything.   Have you ever seen everything?  It is quite small, taken as a whole.   It resembles a tear drop that is also a mouth.   It also resembles a grain of sand, a very large one - larger than anything that has ever been or could be known.  I don’t know yet what will rear its head, its ugly head, I’m sure.  I probably shouldn’t beckon whatever it is to come out, but of course I can’t help myself, any more than anyone can.

I’m beginning to die, which I’m certain of because I’ve discovered that I’m no longer unhappy, which must mean that there’s no longer any use for me.   My mother and father are a pair of cackles who only know about one another.   My sisters are seven muses who open the refrigerator at night.  I, with my snifter, soak in the electric blood of the Universal, which is shredding the fabric of the so-called world to pieces.   The name of the Universal is OIOION.

I’ve been developing a system of names, characters, concepts and half-fictional historical events, and I’m not sure why.   It’s like I am secreting a world history, a much improved world history.  I bring this up, because I’d like to examine it.  I do this half-consciously.  One quarter-consciously.  I do it because I must, and I am dimly and infrequently aware that what I am doing is incredible.  My theory is the best theory that there is that I have.