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Preview: American Center for Surreal and Paranoid Life

American Center for Surreal and Paranoid Life

Balloons are more balloons. Observation of the surreal as a source of knowledge, and being affected consciously by paranoia.

Updated: 2018-01-05T03:13:22.535-05:00




(image) What are the bases on which you select your goals?



Tonight is the night, there will be a break through. I will tell you what I mean next post, after the fact.

I will thoroughly (I have dreamed) enjoy this break through.



(embed) I thought my mind was over there, but it was over here.

When I went over to it, it just sat there. And then my mind was blank, and (then) I could see.

I made this music while I was fraught and the inklings were coming out of my brain(s).






(image) I'm a firm believer in what these days is becoming the norm in thinking about inanimate objects: that they actually may have "life" in them. There's an essence in objects. They resonate and give off a (low) vibration of some kind. The molecules in objects are moving about in such a way that science is beginning to say that objects are alive, albeit at a very slow rate of life. Slower than a tree.

When you break or lose an object you just may be hurting that object's (slow-rated) feelings (in the long run). Perhaps this is where good luck and bad luck come in. Objects remember, they can "see," and they can "make things happen."



(image) I will not seriously ask myself any questions. But how do I dig deeper into something that is with/in me at the moment? No one answer that, so as not to make it a question.

Calculators are for adding (?) numbers, matches are for lighting fires, little black books are for having phone numbers inside. Red light, blue light, green light. Things, objects are in their places inside my room here the way they were put there. I put them there without even knowing it, or without doing it on purpose at the time.

Now I look at these/those things and they sit/set there quiet, unassuming, unmoved, silent and content, almost peaceful and serene. They did not get there on their own. I don't remember the precise moment when I put them there. They are all there as objects and evidence of my existence. They are forms of beauty... If I want to be downtrodden and negative... I can't.

What I'm saying is I love my life, no matter how horrid or horrible or useless it might seem on the outside (to/for me). In my own pettiness I am happy to be alive. I am happy to be a living creature among the objects around me. We share our life together.



(image) For the first time in my life, I'm seeing dollar signs in front of my eyes. And those dollar signs (and the actual dollars) are entering my life. Call them dollars, or pesos, or euros, or whatever.

Money is coming into my life for the first time because I'm allowing it to. I want it to. I'm inviting it into my life. I'm not asking for it. I'm not hoping or wishing for it -- I'm inviting it, (in other words) I'm accepting it. And it's coming in.

I'm no longer being artistic about it. I'm no longer putting a gripe on money. I'm looking at it as a friend now, almost as a long lost brother -- like it's a part of my own family that I had cast out in the past.

It's not like all of a sudden I've now realized how important money is, or how much I need it in order to survive in this life. It's more like it (the concept of money, and the concept of making lots of it) has come up to me and has asked me to be it's friend. It's as if all of a sudden I have a secret magnetic relationship with money now.



(image) There isn't enough time in the world to know exactly what's going on (in the world). So if you don't know something that you do want to know about, don't even think about it because it's probably too late -- it's probably already passed by and is already on its way to infiltrating into the world. And there is no way to know about it now, until it has an impact on your life (without you even knowing about it).



(image) Yes, I hid them in a good place.




(image) Now I've got to go and look for a good place to hide Rachel's two severed legs.




(image) Do you see the hands? Do you see the fingers on the hands? Do you see the letters there? Those are the vowels. A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes Y. A, E, I, O, U.



Dismembering Rachel in the garage


(embed) one minute, thirteen seconds



(image) My novel was born out of the idea not to intellectualize. I couldn't say anything (more), there were no words to say -- so my novel was born out of an action really, an action of feeling -- a welled-up feeling that couldn't be expressed in words at first, but only in a rush of feeling emanating from my body, and then using language only as a secondary means of knowing a little bit (or even an inkling) of what my welled-up feeling was all about.



(image) I saved a kitten today from a small but deep and narrow fountain. The kitten was submerged underwater when I noticed her. She was swimming upwards to the surface, when I put my hands into the fountain water and grabbed hold of her and took her out of the water.



(image) Today I was calm in the heart today. I felt calm. I felt like I was calm. I was calm today. I can't wait to go to sleep tonight. I will take some dreaming pills tonight.



(image) The policeman put on his cap at 1:45 p.m. and ran off to a distress call down the street. The dispatcher had to remind the policeman to bring his weapon, because it was a dangerous (as well as distressful) situation, the dispatcher said.

She slapped his
cheek hard, when he told her that he had lost faith in their life together. And she watched his face blankly as the redness in his cheek slowly went away.

Inequality in our society is the whodangey of all the goodness and capabilities of organized heroes where ardent strides are kept alight toward the goal of futile gesticulations," a respected professor (who wished to be a policeman when he was a child) was saying as me and my friends were sitting together in the grass near the fence outside University Hall on that October afternoon when that kid shot at several people randomly on campus. And then he killed himself, the policemen said.



(image) TRIP The / Your Count / Esses / Houses. Television Visions --> Monday, November 19, 2007 was the day the skull - (was) down in the Lap(b)els: skull post/erior /moments/ meditated by mr //hot// tamale at 11 minutes : 55 Places to Meet the Comment(arie)s - Like the post/erior _



(image) There was another one in Freeport, Texas. She unlocked the car door quickly, and tried to get away. I told her she had thirteen seconds to make a run for it. She said that she could run to hell and back in thirteen seconds. And when she left, she left her purse in the car. That's how I got those little "trophies," as you call them.



(image) Timing is always right. No matter which way you see it, or look at it. She was with me again last night.



(image) I was in the late great state of Michigan, and we were both sitting on the sofa. She arrived at our rendezvous spot a lot earlier than she was supposed to.

She pulled a knife on me when she sat down on the sofa with me. Her boyfriend (and her five kids from another relationship) found out about me, she said.

And I grabbed her wrist and told her to put the knife back (into her purse where she got it from). She did so for a moment, but then pulled the knife on me again. And again I had to grab her wrist and guide her hand to put the knife back.



(image) Last night my dream was not a dream, because it was blacked out by fever and a (migraine) headache. I was nonetheless there, in my dream, although I can't recall except that my mind was tossing and turning trying it's best to get better.

In the future I will listen to no more stop signs.




Another day of wanting gravity to give up on me. A UFO will land in front of my house tonight, at a time in the night when everyone else is sleeping.

My brain will be looked into (and operated on) while I am hypnotized. I will be called on to walk through my house exactly as I've always done, except now with a slight night-time (sleepy) daze.

My dreams that night will bring me the details of what I'm supposed to do.




I wish there was a sure fire way of communicating with other people and getting what I want from them at the same time.

When the time is right, things will work out whether I know it (realize it) or not. I've got to get to the stock market as soon as possible.

The stock market is the one place that's connected so much to nature, without seemingly to have anything whatsoever to do with nature. Intuition comes alive in the stock market. Why? Because the elements of chance, fate, skill, thought, human frailty and triumph, and delusion come into play in direct connection with actual reality outside the self.

I don't shape reality, I must play the game "correctly" within the reality that's going on outside me. My stock choices relate to (or shape) my bankroll reality only -- not at all are they relevent to the ups and downs of the companies that manufacture and sell goods for and to the human race...

At least I know I don't shape reality at the very moment I make my stock choice, and not unless there's a conglomeration of other people's stock choices converging and naturally in sync with my own at any given moment.



(image) Today is the start of my story. I don't know at this point where the story will lead (or where or how it will end). But it will lead and end somewhere. It has to, once it gets started. I just know that honesty is important.

There's Music In the Air


(Ivan Johnson -- The Institution Blues Album / 2006 / USA)

(image) The final touches of a cutting-edge psychology experiment have now been completed on Patient I.J., marking twelve years of non-intrusive neuroscience research since the preliminary experiments were first started in 1995.

Ivan Johnson (Patient I.J.) suffers cyclical episodes of incapacitating hebephrenic schizophrenia that has not been helped in any way by any currently available medications.

So as a last resort, doctors at the Milton S. Hershey Clinical Psychiatry Center decided to fully give in to Ivan's delusions of grandeur and allowed him to pursue his "dream" of becoming a blues singer musician (while still in the safety of the courtyards at the Center).

The doctors supplied Ivan with a guitar and set up a small recording apparatus before him (and also quietly became bystanders and audience members in the z-courtyard), where Ivan's delusions and hallucinations became uniquely and productively reflected in the reality around him (thus producing The Institution Blues Album) rather than remaining stagnate in the confines of his own mind.

This simple and therapeutic method (of building up a mentally ill patient's motivation level) is known by its few practitioners as Open Flow Excitation. The method aims at identifying the patient's recurring inner-most patterned wishes and desires, and then goes about systematically constructing and guiding the environment so that the patient can do nothing but immerse and encourage himself into fulfilling his own inner-most wishes.

DOWNLOAD the entire album (for free)

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