You are about to embark on an uncensored sensualistic experience. Though an attempt has been made to censor all material that may be considered objectional to the common man, select groups may find themselves offended. If you belong to one of these groups, we suggest you avoid this work entirely. Some of the groups which will be greatly offended by the material presented in this book include (but are not limited to) ACLU members, democrats, Republicans, pop-music lovers, and English teachers. The latter are especially warned to quickly turn away from this work, for the abundanent use of nonstandard structure, fragments, and other intentional errors will quickly put them in an assain assylum. Furthermore, critics are warned: this work does not attempt to have any long lasting importance. Everything is to be taken literally, unless it isn't. There is no significance of the number of times I flip from first to thrid person. AND, I forgot what I was going to say here. But, I really like music, and I hate my computer desk. It is just too dark here. But, this is just the useless preface that nobody in there right mind even reads, so I can just ramble on about whatever. Ah? So you would like some story. Well, it will, of course, start with a musical intro. But, unfortunately, since we lack the hypertext facilities to add music to the text, you will just have to hope you here the correct music in the background. If not, maybe Robert can halp out. Oh, and all you copyright mogrels: come on, get offa my case. Sure, I bottlegged copyrighted stuff, but, hey, you can't censor a mind. (or can you????)

There is arest in the forest
There is trouble with the trees
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore there pleas

"Turn off that infernal trash"
Actually, it's arboreal trash - tress, and it hasn't even got to the loud part yet.
"Yes, dad."
The trees think they have trouble. They have never met me. No matter what I do, my dad is mad. He hates Rush! How can you have a dad that hates Rush! Back in his days, he didn't even listen to the Beatles. Beethoven! He wasn't even a long-hair hippie like everyone else. But life will soon be better for me. For I am: (ARRRRGGHHH! I forgot. No music! How can you tell a story without music. Well, the superman theme was SUPPOSED to come here, but, as you can well see (whoops, that should be hear) it isn't. So, I guess my wonderful super-glotation is ruined. Blip!


Ahh, the wonderful piano bridge. I still haven't been able to find the cello.
Uh oh. Dad's actually coming towards my room.]
"That 'music' has a small amount of redeeming qualities."
"Thanks. It's one a'my favorites."
"But don't turn the volume up too high!"
Slam! Ya know, my dad is just the stereotypical mean dad. But hey, when you make up your parents you can do whatever you want with them, and what would be a story without some source of conflict?
It's starting to get late, and feel tired. Just a little more Rapid Eye Movement. But I think'll Document it this time.

There's something strange going on tonight.
There's something going on that's not quite right.

Egad! I almost forgot! I'm narrating a short story with my thoughts! And I'm dead me if I do a real-time narrative of sleep. But hey, there's always the dreams. And sometimes they get mixed up with my real thoughts. That really is confusing. Especially when music get's mixed in.

Ohhhhh life, is bigger.
It's bigger than you
And you are not me.
The things that I will go through
to distance any prize.
Oh no I've said to much.
I've said enough.

I've never understood Michael Stipe. And his video. One of the best I've ever seen. But, it didn't shed a bita light on the song.

I thought I heard you laughing
I thought I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try
But that was just a dream
that was just a dream

Last night it was about blue trutles. Remind me never to sting myself like that. But perplexing Enigma's are even worse. I think I'll pass on that. plot. Plot. PLOT! I almost forgot.
Next chapter. Never do on this page what you can put off till the next.

There's something very strange going on tonight. Something going on that's not quite. There's something going on that wasn't here before. Keep your eyes glued to the door. Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo oooh.

Hey, wow! A grammer checker. Dude!

The finest hour-

Ya know. The difference between this and most of the 'big' novels, is that they usually know where they're heading. I don't. I'm just kinda meandering along on this path, because, Hey! I'm not an author! I'm just a regular dude carring about regular life. Ya know, I have always wondered what happens to dudes in fiction. I book is never all-inclusive. It always lacks the important parts of the person's life that I am curious about. And the real long ones are even worse. The more it tells, the more you need. Whoops, I forgot:

Show me, don't tell me.

Never forget Rush when writing. And comic strips are even worse. You can just picture the increment CRASH.

It all started with
an earthquake,
birds and snakes,
an airplane,
Lenny Bruce is not afraid.