Logorrhea

Today I am pouring words in every direction. I haven't said a word out loud, though. It's purely a textual experience. My kitten accompanies me from room to room as my brain pan gurgles with logorrhea-induced verbal hurl. I run to the computer, click on a site where I can comment and barely make it to the text-box.

I've been this way all morning. It's funny, too, because I had nothing mentally stimulating last night; it's not an issue of being intellectually overhung. Maybe I have a nasty meme. The Asian Blog Flu. Whatever. It's all coming out undigesting, in revolting and revelatory chunks that show right where they came from. Some Sedaris, some Cho, some David "Myths of the Dogmen" White, some ancient Tibetan, some blogophile rants and a huge heaping bag of emotional signals emoted by my magical pussy. (Don't be lewd.)

I'm still high from whatever my brain sucked up. It's maybe some Direct Transmission, the bodhicitta-oil percolating down through my addled brains and, stimulated by tweaky trip-hop drum-n-bass Tricky twists, pushes up and out the watery, frothy prose. I'm high, floating on a gliding sensation of forebrain overpoking. My lizard brain is rolling, my midbrain is drooling, my grey grits are all microwaved with milk and honey. Soma must have felt like this: bull pizzle shoots golden trails of drug-laden piss into a container that the old priests stirred with bhang (sweetened liquid marijuana) and drank, still hot. Your horse filters your water for you so you don't get sick in Central Asia; in ancient times your cattle filtered your soma in the same way so you didn't die from the toxins in the mushrooms. Don't eat the liver of a polar bear or any other carnivore, you'll die from the vitamin A.

Oh I can't stop. Call the hospital. I'll be dead from sentience-dehydration, from sentence-dehydration, from sheer exhaustion. RSI in the wrists is matched with a cramp in my head. Logorrhea. Logorrhea. Logorrhea. Logorrhea. Logorrhea. Logorrhea.

Quick, get me some Radiohead.