unfocusing

Seemingly started at a mote to Tuesday, a lemniscatus lemming to fry the abridgment of yon high, oh alas, had I a dram of elderberry wine, would I seek the turnipquet of duodecimalisation, a breakfast pudding, a gangrenous galligaskin of thymebread and rye. The remembrances I sought were not recorded in conventional memory nor were they readily available for perusal by the vice-thingummy. Astranger a stranger an astral manger; an astral manager: anastra ad nastra tingling tinctures and inktures and mayhaps the spleen may deliver a glimmer so slight to shimmer so wright as to blimmer and glisten to hideous listen what crystals askance what piebalds dance so make me an offer do not proffer the proctor swings the galley-cat slings of arrows and fortune of tea-cake or tunes did the lunes echo a moon like sine-creame dreams of ice-cream streams did I wonder a blunder through a mechanical york through a chemical fork.

I was many people in many places doing many things...

I saw many different environments all layered on top of each other, but there was no ordering to them, they all interexisted, moreover, they were logically connected, so that the effect was not to have my vision obscured by the topmost layer -- there was no topmost layer or any notion of ordering them. They fit together like exotic puzzle pieces -- I was aware that they were each a separate thing and aware that they all fit together, but if you asked me later to tell you what I saw, I'm not sure any of it was recorded to conventional memory, so I must shrug at you.

Later on, the world was as small plastic. Someone had been enveloped by a gray liquid and then ceased to be. Further on, I was playing an aerophone made from many different sheets, but it was impossible to play.