Stream of thought exercise. I bought a fish at the market the other day. Big ole fish like the ones they throw to tourists at the Pike Place Market in Seattle. I got it home and realized they hadn’t gutted the thing. When I ripped it open it stunk so bad I couldn’t concentrate. Tears were in my eyes and the gag reflex nearly set it. When I managed to gather myself, I reached in and pulled the guts out in a long pumpkin stream of slime. Grasping and pulling at the pink flesh something jabbed my middle finger. A moment of searching and in the middle of all the gook is a diamond pendant So curious.

When I’m thinking. Where does the thought actually take place? Why can’t I locate a thought? Right now, I’m thinking in my frontal lobe with maybe a bit of cortex. I think, even without all those things the scientists say I’d imagine all that thinking was going on behind my eyes. I can’t say I ever felt like I was thinking out of my butt… Though when I’m typing the thought does appear to be on the screen – and if I’m drawing, it’s on paper. Hmmm. What are the boundaries? How does a blind man know where his hands are? Do we only know where they are because we can see them? Or maybe because we can feel our hands when we scratch our noses. When we bump into things our nerves tingle and send a message. Bumping, scratching – all physical things. Thoughts on the other hand are not physical. They are chemical reactions or something similar. Memories are stored and the process of thinking connects those memories. Couldn’t that thinking take place anywhere? Through any suitable medium? Thought. Can we train ourselves to exist without our bodies? Are our bodies self imposed boundaries? Load our memories to a computer disk, run the thought patterns on through and there we are! Surviving as a sup’d up Mercedes. Automatic or manual transmission?

Craving for the warmth of a shell. Simple longing for something more than the current moment. A step. A breath. Logic. Simple emotion. Holding on to what happened yesterday. What if you could only have someone else’s memories? What if you could only create memories for someone else? Nothing to hold onto but that moment. No bags to pack. Only a thought pattern to hold on to.

Viruses are pretty simple things. One function. One action. Tough by nature and by nature, viral. Usually a virus will single out its host either by luck or by a specific set of circumstances. For most of the viruses we’re familiar with a weak immune system will suffice. In the case of a thought virus they might look for high levels of activity or short circuits in thought patterns. Schizophrenia would help. High electrolyte levels. Prozac or some of the other thought control drugs. They are mostly harmless. Seizing on dreams of delicate pastas, accounting problems from work or maybe a sultry kiss and then moving on.

a.
In the five hundredth year of the second Thought God Mendicrine was locked in a nasty viral induced nightmare. The virus had seeped in during a moment of intense hatred aimed at his sister. He now stood over her. Her blue blood drenched the spear he clutched in his left hand. He could do nothing but revel in the feel of it all. He pokes the tip of the spear at her head and sees the skin flex and a new dab of blood appear. He can feel the warmth of her corpse press against his leg. The sound of her scream is etched permanently in his brain and it is a cosmic bliss. He brings the bloodied spear tip to his lips and licks. The sensation over runs his system. And then in that next moment, it is gone. The thought virus has run its course and moved on – seeping out and searching for a new host. Mendicrine now stands with a realization of his misfortune. That single moment of hate had been seized upon, enlarged and lived out for the greedy virus. He stands now with full knowledge that he’ll have to remember this day forever.

In the five hundred and first year of the second Thought God Mendicrine discovered a simple method to remove the thought viruses from his planet, Kemlia. Operating under the assumption that the viruses were attracted to strong thought patterns (they tended to infect scientists and artists more frequently) he discovered the very specific brainwave frequency that attracted the virus.

In the five hundred and second year the virus was virtually eradicated from Kemlia. Small devices had been created that mimicked the attractive brain wave. These were then loaded into disposal shuttles and shot into space along with the weekly jettison of unrecyclable waste.

Comets spray across the galaxy. Swirling in elliptical patterns. Their whipping tales pushed away by the solar wind of the stars. Careening close to planets. When they strike other objects in space they are either obliterated and leave a giant hole on the offending planet or giant rock or they obliterate what they hit.

Thousands of the thought viruses had survived the impact with the comet. Along with the dusty remains of the unrecyclable waste they now resided in the flurrying whir of the comet tail. Existing only. No destination. In essence dormant. The comet swung round on its tightest arch. Reaching a solar system far off in the galaxy. The tail spins quickly as the comet jets around the minor star. Bits of waste burn up in the atmosphere. Shooting stars light the night sky and seem to fall in tracer patterns to the planet’s surface. A marvelous fire works display for the inhabitants of the planet.

b.
Her breaths had gone short. Her legs were at a near constant quiver and her eyes had gone a deep wide. Never had she experienced this. Never. And never anything close to this with John. He was still over her building to a fevered pitch of concentration and sensation. She has already peaked three times and he is still going strong. Still moving like a beast of pleasure. And she is building again. She sees his face a tranquil state of bliss slowly tightening building and relaxing. She closes her eyes, squeezes and breathes him in. Everlasting. Rhythm. Sensation. Concentration.

Explosion and in a heap of almost massless muscle John collapses on her. He shakes his head as if to clear the cobwebs and she holds him tight. “Amazing” she whispers.
“Yeah…” and he falls asleep.

Not baseless. There is no random act associated with the phenomena. It’s just that under other circumstances the action would be stopped by the conscious mind. Anger at a sales clerk won’t usually result in fisticuffs. Even if the customer really does want to hit the salesman. Here, there is just no restraint.

c.
Terminal rage. He’d never seen drivers so angry. They were jousting on the freeway like fencers with rapiers. One would speed the other in close pursuit until it would edge right up on the bumper. Then the first would slam on the breaks. Dark Porche and red Mustang nip and tuck down the freeway. The red Mustang always behind. Eventually the Porche speeds away and exits with the Mustang in hot pursuit. Their headlights race across the bridge and over the freeway. Disappearing into the darkness – tiny fleeting red lights.

Growing up he remember having rage like that. Years ago. Any little thing might set him off. He remembers frustration. One time a friend of his, Kevin, had been over for an afternoon of food and tennis ball wars. The violence of the tennis ball war had done nothing but damage some of his mother’s plants. The problem had come after a snack. One of those motherly snacks prepared on a hot summer day. He and Kevin had been on their way outside after cookies and juice. They tried to walk side by side through the kitchen door. Wham…. Their bodies smashed together and he lost it. Yelling and screaming in a red color rage he had pounded his fists into the much bigger Kevin. It was a good thing Kevin was so good natured. Kevin could easily have beaten the living crap out of him.

Do you see the fruit on the tree? It is divine and you are hungry. So hungry. Imagine its sweetness on your tongue. Imagine the juice flowing down your throat. Imagine the pulpy texture and the crisp skin. Truly divine. And only one arms length away. Can you not taste it?

To be overcome by desire. Carnival rides can take you to a similar place. Thrill seekers delight. Spinning. Falling.

d.
A mighty cliff. So high and challenging The side route down diver’s gulch had always been the way to go. But every time he got to the bottom he’d look back up and see that cliff. Maybe 100 ft straight down. Over rocks and bushes to the fresh powder snow at the bottom. That would be a ride. One helluva ride. One more trip up the mountain today. One more and as the chair floats like a desperate cloud he can’t help but imagine the thrill of Diver’s Gulch. Off the lift and gliding along Blissful Ridge he looks down one more time – out across the gulch to the other side of the valley. In a surge of inspiration and lust for free fall he spins right and pushes hard to the cliff edge. Snapshots show him the mile of empty space below – the air beneath his skis – his stomach rips up through his insides. Elation. Joy. Flying and a sudden awareness that he would hit rock before snow. The fear encompasses him and the adrenal rush causes his voice to bulge like an ocean wave. It crashes on the rocks below and sprays like mist. He is that wave and in that brief moment of pain before he perishes he feels his mind take hold of the sensation of rock and cold and cling to it like a child might hold a puppy.

In Darwin’s theory. Evolution affects all levels of life from the smallest microbe on up to the most exotic species. Figuring out how the theory applies is the difficult part.

Ask me to define life and there is no telling what my answer might be. One day I might say we are here simply to fulfill the wishes of God. Probably some desperate search of His to define good and evil. We are here to mark that line. When we are done we flourish in the eternal bliss of sameness, where no decisions are made and there is no recognition of time, space, history or future. Most people call it heaven. I don’t think they’ve thought it through too clearly.

The next day I might tell you that we’re here as a curious mishap of probability and when we die, we’re gone. We can only try to appreciate what we have and hopefully do things for the right reasons. Respect. Love. There are really only a few things truly worth having. Sorting through all the other crap is the challenge.

e.
Mary Elizabeth (Lisa) realized that attending all these blasted anarchist meetings was really a waste of time. 1. no one there really understands the utopian state of anarchy and 2. all the hatred in the room really got her down. So she raised her hand in a very diplomatic and “civilized” fashion. Robert (not Bob), the man in charge, sees her hand and gives her a call out. He knows what is coming and welcomes it. “It seems to me,” she says “that with all this disruption of the society we loathe we are only encouraging the creation of more laws, more police, more regulations and not only that, but stronger support for the very forces that we proclaim as evil. I just don’t see how this can in any way support the cause of Anarchy.” She sits. She smiles. And the rush of adrenalin from her little speech gives her a thrill of satisfaction. She can feel the eyes on her.

Robert looks at her and then over the heads of the crowd. “You only show that you have a rational mind. Society is not rational like us. We must force the rest of the world to recognize this foolish path they are on. The only way to do this is by forcing extremes. The only way to gain the support of the masses is to push them off the other edge. Once they recognize that they are on the path of government control they will run back to us and recognize the logic of Anarchism and the wisdom of lawlessness. First we must scare them with visible rebellion against government control. Disrupt their government controlled lives. Then when the government tightens its fist” he raises his clenched hand to the small crowd – “that is when the people will understand the trap they have fallen into and know real fear.” He nods his head and looks down at Lisa. Take that, bitch – laced in his eyes. The crowd lets out a dull roar of approval. “ROBERT!” “ANARCHY!” echo through the hall. Robert absorbs the elation, the sensations and smiles.

Two hours later in an alley just off Main street Robert and Lisa are snogging against a trash container. Lisa’s skirt is up above her waist and Robert’s pants are draped at his ankles. Their moans are echoing off the building walls. People walk by and avert their eyes. Children openly stare and point – their parents rush them away. Robert and Lisa see every face. Hear every word and glorify in it. “Should be ashamed” “Oh my God” “Where are the police” “This town has gone to hell”. Oh the glory. Their only regret is that they know it will end. Lisa lets out a squeal of delight and shakes her head like a wild dog.

f.
The first year of the Third God on Kemlia was declared and celebrated one year after the last recorded case of the thought virus. They were free.

Without inspiration where would this planet be? I suspect we might still be in caves or under rocks or maybe even still living as primordial slime. One small group of molecules merely existing with no concept that anything is even happening.

g.
In the 50th year of the Third God Kemlia disappeared from space and time. One theory amongst the neighboring planets was that it had been struck by a rogue comet. A second and more creative theory was that once it had ceased to exist on one plain, it ceased to exist on all plains.

There are days and creatures that are just joyous. St. Patrick’s day is a fabulous holiday. Folks, if overcome, are mostly just overcome with drunkenness. Kittens, sparrows, hummingbirds and otters just do not seem to have angry bones. Well, alright, some kittens can get a bit nasty, but on the whole they are joyous and playful. A kitten can warm the lap and sooth the soul. To sit outside on a fine spring day and watch a butterfly flit by calms the heart. Goldfish locked in a glass prison are said to reduce blood pressure. They know contentedness despite their prison and it is infectious.

h.
Ball of string bounds like a slinky down the stair. Mutt’s eyes go big like saucers as he strains against the giant’s paws. Let me at it let me at it let me at it… go go go until Mutt’s tiny little mouth turns and a tiny tooth jabs at the giant paw. RELEASE! And he’s off! Bound bound bound after the string and falling and barely making the corner on the stairs. Long red tail long red tail… tail. There it is and POUNCE on the soft mass of wiggly tail. Four sets of claws implant and then a headlong roll. Up the stair a thunder of glee erupts from the giant. Pounding steps as the giant rushes over, grabs the bundle of tails and pulls the tiny Mutt across the floor. Hold on hold on hold on. Stretched and digging with two tiny claws Mutt lets out a ferocious scream – releases and pounces again.

Man is fascinated by youth. The fountain of youth is a famous tale. Today there’s anti-wrinkle cream and plastic surgery and boob lifts and boob reductions and hair replacement and hair removal. A constant struggle against the disadvantages of aging. Where exactly is the benefit in becoming older? As a child we crave it – yet we seem to fear it the second it is in our hands. Sure, you gain independence. At the same time you gain responsibility. Financial burdens can straddle a life. Moral obligation can weigh you down. The ability to drive a car is intertwined with law abidement. How great it would be to just let go with no consequences. No worry. Maybe the loss of youth is just a recognition that there are consequences. It seems like Jesus wasn’t too horribly concerned with consequences. Not on earth anyway. We are feeling the results of his actions every day.

i.
Dirty in the mud and prowling the ground. One with the world. His camo covered in actual mud and leaves Brent looks out from the growth of brush he had been staked in for days. His focus had not drifted. His resolve had only been broken by a tiny bug crawling from his helmet down his face. The tiny feet tickled every nerve along the ridge of his nose until he could take it no longer and he slowly dislodged his right hand from his gun, plucked the bug from his nose and squashed it. During this process not a sound had come from him, the bush or even the bug. His attention on the house below had now wavered. Focus. Desperate focus. And patience.

Psychologically profiled 3 years ago Brent had gone through a series of training periods. Each slightly more intense each slightly more controlled. His diet had become a strict regime of calories and nutrients. His pituitary had slowly come under the power of the daily medications. His body had become so lean there was little difference between the hardness of his bones and his muscles. In preparation for these days on assignment he had even been given a special and newly developed electro therapy to sharpen the mind. The therapy had seemed silly to him at the time, barely producing the itch of a tickle on his left ear lobe.

Focus. Four days in this muck and he had not slept nor had he wanted to. He was in tune with every breath of wind – every raindrop and every small rodent that made its way in and out of the house below. Bird’s nest on the SE corner. Animal trail to the west. Three deer came and drank out of the pond every morning. A doe and two fawn. Not one saw him. Focus. He heard a rustle. The bird flew from the nest high to a tree. The trees seemed to shake in alarm. He readied himself. It was coming. Focus. An engine a truck came down from the north. Two people inside. They park the bird watches them and the engine cuts to silence. Brent leans to the side to view them through the cross hairs. Focus. The driver steps out… no…no. Wrong face, wrong eyes, no sense of power. A moment later the passenger steps out and stretches. Brown short hair brown eyes scarred nose. “POP” Brent feels a sudden rush of elation and joy as he sees the tiny red dot expand on the man’s forehead and he falls to the ground. Brent lets out a cry and shudders as the focus disperses and four days collapse on his body. The driver hears him, squats by the truck and fires six quick shots into Brent’s bush. Three hit him in the head. Silence. The little bird flies back to its nest. The deer in a nearby clearing turn their heads at the shots, but return quickly to their tender shoots.

Does man think himself too clever to believe that he might be the one being manipulated? Usually if a creature is being manipulated, it works best to have the subject unaware of the proceedings. Would a mouse in a maze serve its purpose if it worried about the morality of its actions? Puberty and age have an interesting affect on humans. Awareness of sexuality sets in. Manipulation skills become finely tuned as the body and mind become more interested in longevity of the individual and of the species.

j.
Sara was so thin her neighbors joked she didn’t cast a shadow. 5’8” 16 years old and 110 lbs. On her 17th birthday she had a thin slice of birthday cake. She thought she would explode. She’d smiled as she chewed and managed to choke it down. Her family smiled at her until she had asked to be excused. She could feel their eyes as she crossed the room. In the bathroom she looked into the mirror to see her giant miss shapen head – cheekbones protruding from her face. She felt so large she didn’t even have to manually purge the cake. A flush and she was whole again. She cursed the sugar that had already absorbed into her system. Most times she could literally feel her blood sucking the nutrients from her muscle and bone. It was a high like no other. She’d found it first running cross country after school that day she’d forgotten lunch. Now it was a constant craving. Feel the body erode. Wind on giant pillars of sandstone. She straightens from the toilet and closes her eyes against the lightheadedness – another fabulous high. She shakes her head and feels a rush as a chill takes her breath away. Succumb. Her mother finds her ten minutes later unconscious on the floor.

Some actions do seem to be uniquely human. Self imposed starvation seems to be one of them. A testament to the power of the mind, one might suppose.

Cancer seems to be man’s greatest enemy. Virtually uncontrollable. Sometimes unpredictable. Uncivilized. We can hardly even define it. Seems like it’s mostly just some expanding mass inside us that we are unable to explain. Modern medicine seems to think the only way to stop it is to attack the body it is feeding on. Radiation and chemotherapy attack both host and disease. Sometimes they bring the patient to the brink of death before the cancer is successfully quashed. Seems sort of like killing all the plants on an island to get rid of a pesky bird or two. They just fly away.

k.
Sitting on the bench in one of those moods. Not that it matters. No one looks at you nowadays. Not unless you’re a pretty young thing. And a pretty young thing he certainly is not. People walk by. The fog settles a bit. He could walk to the next stop. But he might miss the bus then. Deep breath.

Steve notices a funny gait coming up to the bench. The funny gait stops and feet shuffle. Then they turn and with a deliberate movement, he sits.
-Hi he says shortly.
-Kinda foggy isn’t it?
-I like fog.
-Makes me think clearer.
-That’s what my momma says anyway.
-She says I think clearer when she can’t see me so well. Hehe.
-She’s funny.
-Is your momma funny?

-Oh well. Not every momma can be funny.
Pause. O’ Beautiful Silence. Patience. . .
-The bus should be here soon
-It’s 5 after
-It gets here at 7 after almost every day
-Sometimes it’s late, but John – that’s the driver
-He’s always here by 10 after.
-Somedays John isn’t the driver then it could be later.
-Or even early.
-Oh that would be too bad.

-Next bus is 30 minutes.
-They run every 30 minutes this time of day.
-Later on it’s just one an hour.
-I think they stop running at midnight.
Pause. Blissful silence.

-I use layers to keep warm.
-That’s what my momma says to do.
-I see you’ve got a big jacket.
-Looks nice. Should keep you warm.
-Will be hot on the bus.

-Hot on the bus. Hmmmm
Pause. Blissful silence.

-The bus is almost always full this time of day.
-I usually get a seat right up front.

-Bill & Joe & Mary save one for me when they can.
-Not really supposed to do that.
-But they do. Just for me.
pause… blissfull silence.
-On the bus I usually take one layer off.
-Then I’m not too hot.
-Do you get hot?
pause… Steve glares at the man out of the corner of his eye
-Oh no! You’re too cool.
-You’re cool as a cucumber.
-Cool Cool Cool
-Not like my brother.
-He slugs me in the arm all the time.

-Yeah, I get bruises but they don’t hurt after a while
-I never hit him back.
-He just gets frustrated.
-That’s what momma says.
pause… blissful silence.
-Oh here it comes.- The bus pulls up and they get on. Steve lets the man on first.
-I’ve got a pass.- He says walking up the stairs.
-Use it every day. Monday through Friday and Sunday for church.
The bus is packed. Steve and the man are squished next to each other near the front.
-Hey, there’s Mary. She’s a Christian.- Mary nods and smiles at the man.
-I go to church with her.
-I know all about the Lake of Fire.
-Do you know about the Lake of Fire?
pause.
-That’s where Satan went.
-That’s where sinners go.
-I’ve got Jesus. He washes away my sins
-So I don’t have to go to the lake.

pause. Silence.
Deep Breath. The bus stops. “excuse me” “parden me” “my stop please”. The bus starts again. Pause. Silence. Patience. Just the rustle of jackets as the bus sways.
Silence still. Curious Steve looks up to sneak a peak at the man. The man’s joy filled face is looking at him smiling. Joy.
“Hi, I’m Steve.” And he holds out his hand.

Focus and a chain of thought so severe the normal populace excludes it out of annoyance and then is drawn to it as if by a magnet. Sense of personality and curiosity over rides it all and then even the most unbreakable wall is simply stepped over. New pastures are explored. The light hits the flowers a bit differently from the other side. The air is surprisingly warm. Turn your face to the sun and enjoy the life it provides.

l.
“Kristy won’t wake up” cries Molly as she runs down the stairs. Her mom looks up alarmed.
“What do you mean? Is your sister too tired to get up?”
“No no no – I can’t wake her up!
Unsure of her daughter June runs up the stairs and into Kristy and Molly’s room. Kristy is under the covers. Sunlight on her face in a smile eyes closed. “Kristy” she breaths. Nothing. She rushes to her and shakes her gently, “Kristy” nothing. She shakes her much harder and shouts her name. Nothing. Kristy’s face remains a contended blissful smile.

The waves tickle her toes like seltzer water and she looks across the crystal green to the pink sunset. She is not inclined to move for fear it might all go away. This magical place had come to her before but never in such clarity. Never could she feel the ocean’s bubbles or smell the saccharine sweet air.

She hears a chatter behind her and turns to see two bulbous creatures with tiny heads and giant bodies strolling the beach. They do not seem to notice her. She gets a sense of lost joy and recognizes a feeling of discomfort in the two figures.

She takes a step and emerged in a solid white circular room. It was filled with miscellaneous debris. She picks up a small object encased in what appears to be plastic. She smiles at her own reflection. A shiver runs through her spine at a sudden realization that there iss something alive in the box. Thousands of somethings.

She dropps the box and stands in another circular room. The floor covered in blue liquid. To one side there are again two creatures. This time one is huddled over the other. Kristy is struck with extreme sorrow. She walks to them and sees the one on the floor has a wound in its chest area. The blue liquid still spewing forth. The other, well, it seems to be crying. Sorrow. Gut wrenching shock and dismay and Kristy can not move. The creature that was huddled over the dying one stands and swings around. She can hear it in her mind. “I can feel you! I know you are here! Damn you! Damn you! Damn you! I will see you all go to HELL!” Kristy nearly falls backward. The hatred so intense, the shock so great the guilt Kristy felt so real she broke down crying. Knees down in the drenching blue that soaks upward into her dressing gown. Tiny waves echo away – crashing against the white walls.

Impact. History teaches that there are cycles. It is not just a human tendency to repeat our mistakes. Patterns are difficult to break. Patterns are useful in discerning meaning.

Kristy revives from her trauma. She is on the beach again, but it is night. A crowd of creatures are all pointing skyward. A cascade of bright lights are streaking through the sky. Flashes like fireworks on independence day. The beauty captivates her. She knows there must be some greater reason for everything. She slowly shakes her head in wonder.

My one concern is that you should already know the answer and how this will turn out. If that is so, why are we going through all of this? Have you really just created this out of your own cyclic necessity? Is this one in a series of tests? Do you doubt your own power and knowledge? Are you using this to help gain an understanding of your own existence? Is there a hunk of cheese at the end of this tunnel? Are we using the real agent, or just a placebo?

With a massive shake, the paramedics send a racing surge of electricity through Kristy’s chest. She gasps and her eyes go wide.. The paramedics step back in seeming disbelief… “mom!” she whispers, slowly shaking her head. June rushes to her side. The miracle of life.