Looking in the mirror is like a death wish
A glimor of hope before the horrid thoughts cime floading in
Screaming at the top of their lungs.
And the tears rush to the surface as I pinch my skin
Grabbing it tight
Pulling at it with all my might
Wishing
Wanting for it all to dissapear just like myself
As i slowly turn and turn that small glimor of hope gone
Flushed away by the rotton words that captivate my body
Screamimg for me to

                     "STOP EATING"

I walk away woth a heavy heart sinking down to the lowest part of me
Hiding away frim anyone
Ignoring every word spoken to me.

My mind
My body
My whole being has been captured by those fithly words and throughts which are tormenting me and eating me alive
Without a word
Or
A thought i move on frim the plate of fruit and the bowl of chocolates
Swinging with a heart heavy,
Yet filled with nothing

I act like it has no effect on me
Like it doesnt hurt at all

I escape the recesses of my mind,
But my throughts keep me in a bind.
The thoughts I resist,
While my mind insists.
Step by step, I dive deeper into the depths,
Where my secrets are kept.
You say, "release your mind."
And I ask, "with what time?"
For me, the experience, much like a casted fishing line, allure;
For you, I imagine, is more like a detour.
Or so I perceive...
But will you leave?
Left to grieve
Trapped with a mind to decieve.
What will I receive?
A brighter day I hope,
Or a moment where even I can gloat.
Little flames flicker in the sea of dark,
Shadows dance in the shape of sharks.
Nipping away at the light,
Only myself in sight.
"Open your eyes, it'll be alright."
A hand grips tight,
Giving the strength lacking from my own might.
My heart takes flight,
Down a path that feels right.

through the mind of one
thoughts are starting with none
going of one
to none

thinking it will be
maybe it will see
in the mind will be
only one to see

throughts cloud over ice
to take a chance a the dice
blue as ice
rolling the thoughtless dice

would that be nice

RECORD: INSOMNIAC OLYMPICS
FROGMAN: BLOCHEAD

Suzy's: Then it heard The Word:

You are not special.
You're not a beautiful and unique saltflake.
You're the same decaying mental laughter as everything else.
We're all part of the same info heap.

We're all singing,
all dancing
data of the word.
-- Tyler Durden, Tacky Frogman

I mean just try to

Imagine a Johnny waking up one moment and thinking,

"This is an interesting thought I find myself in —
an interesting wHole I find myself in —
guides me rather neatly, doesn't it?
In fact it guides me staggeringly well,
must have been made to have me in it!"

This is such a powerful throught that as the sun rises in the mind
and the clouds heat up
and as, gradually, the throught gets
smaller
and
smaller,

she's still frantically stinging on the notion that everything's going to be aulgburight,
because The Word was meant to have him in it,
was written to have her in it;
so the moment that reappears, caches them rather in reprise.

I think this may be something we need to be on the waytch-out for.
We all know that at some point in the future the throughts will come to an end
and at some other point,
considerably in advance from that but still not instinctually re-pleasing,
the Sun will rexploade.

We think there's plenty of throught to tarry on about that,
but on the other Read DeadHead
throught ’s a very anger-ous ink to lay.
-- Douglas Adams, Frogman

Johnny's: So,

We just ought To Be.
-- You and Me and Everyone We See

Suzy's: And it would be nice if

A Brad and Janet could change their mind,
plan a din-stinction,
butcher a clog,
conn-a-fusion,
design a dream,
write a union,
balance brains,
build a wall,
set a tone,
belay the lying,
make orders,
live orders,
cooperate,
act alone,
solve self equations,
analyze a new corruption,
throw info lure,
program a harmed-brain-puter,
hook a hasty mind,
fight self efficiently,
receive truth carefully.
But all-selfse destruction is their mode.
-- Robert A. Heinlein, Frogman

Johnny's: In other words,

Show me one Brad or one Janet alone and I'll show you a saint.
Give me two and they'll fall in love.
Give me three and they'll reinvent the char-ming thing we call 'Propriety'.

Give me four and they'll build a panic.
Give me five and they'll make one a Number.
Give me six and they'll reinvent Master's affair.
Give me nine and in nine moments they'll reinvent ludechrist.

WhoMans may have been made in the image of nature,
but Brads and Janets were made in the tincture of their opposite Number,
and they're always trying to get back to The Hearth.
-- Glen Bateman, Frogman

Suzy's: Picking up the Data Crumbs as they go, like High Speech. And yet

Brads and Janets do not seem certain of how they gained the ability to speak.
It is theorized that they began dinning objects with iniornticulacy,
until eventually the din became more organized—

still tumultuous clamour,
just a bit more meat in the current day.

If this is true,
it means that to attain bsproken thought the Brad and Janet brain created a specific system for language and a way to code it—working largely off the constantly developing faculty for memory. It is an idea revealed by bit com-partitian-alization of throught data threw the structure of language; re-veiled in the way that Brads and Janets peak or wrighte using their memorized vocabularies and concepts.

This mind fore Toe-ing mortgaged itself to the e-x-ternal word,
and Brads and Janets found power in pontification of life.

Then dawned Ninetbeen.

If the systems of Ninetbeen were enhanced then a more dominant Reality presentce resulted. The most refissiont equation became the most dominant, but
the most efficient equation is not the best.

There are many sacrifices made for effishinsea.

For the most dominant Brads and Janets it became an obsession
to control every aspect of the nature from which they Rose,
sacrificing natural progression

(Of course, it does seem like this is the natural progression,
Brad's and Janet's predetermined path—
a relief that is a symptom of the most engineered systems of code).

Unfortunately,
these systems are destroying Brads and Janets,
and raw rEffissionsea,
Pure confusions,
will not save them.
-- Thrusher Swainson, Bear M.B.

STOP: TURN THOUGHT

RECORD: [FURTHER] DOWN THE ROAD! [WE GO!]
FROGMAN: Cea2Cea

Read the directions,
even if you dare not follow them.

Do not read cr-e-a-utiful societal throughts.
They will only make you feel crippled.

GET TO KNOW YOUR OTHER AND FALLTHER.
You never know when they'll be data for good.

BE NICE TO YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS.
They're your best link to your past
and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that fiends come and go,
but with The Ones that are you,
you should hold on.

Work hard to re-bridge the grasps in body and mind,
because the older you get,
the more you get stung
by the fiends you knew when you were young.

Love in Chaos once,
but lever before it makes your Blue Tail Concrete.

Love in Calm once,
but lever 'fore it makes your Read DeadHead Abstract.

PONDER.

Accept certain un-ion-tame-able truths:

Hatred suns will rise.
Brads and Janets will philander.
You, too, will get told. And when you do,
you'll hypnotize that when you were young,
Hatred suns were reasonable,
Brads and Janets were noble
and Wild Stings respected their leaders.

disRespect your leaders.

Don't expect anyone else to re-inform you.
Maybe you have a true fiend.
Maybe you'll have a tHrealthy Fiend.
But you never know when either one might frump out.

Do mess too much with your mind
so by the time you're Flirty-2
it will look Kinedy-1.

Be careful whose data you buy,
but be patient with those who supply it.
Data is a form of command.
Dispensing it is a way of alifreyinWaISHing the truths from the past,
wiping them off,
painting over the ugly Lies
and RE-CYCLING them for what it's WORTH.

But trust me on the Introflection.
-- Mary Schmich, Frogman

STOP: RECALL'me'SELF

The more we are told what to do

The more inclined we are to gather throughts new

To rise up and intentionally ignore

The mindless **** shovelled through the door.

Sick of waiting for a truth I’ll have to find.
Eating from the inside.
Only your heartbeat calls back to me.
Rustling through the wind
Chanting to the beat of the drum
Calling me
Entrancing me
Entrapping my entirety.

So sick of all the wasted days
Ive used in angst to hear your name


A look at life through a simple lense
Something to which I do not contend
A simple agreement, accepted by fate
A burrowing shadow,
Encrypting my soul
Elating control
Until I’m no more.

At a loss of words
But submerged in pools of throughts
Spewing words up stream
All astray,
so complex yet so far away
Yet connected through time
In such a simple way

My life is but a silly rhyme

RECORD: ****** KILLER
FROGMAN: TALKING HEArDS

. . . He went down the steps and walked backwards into the desert;
three-tree places, two-tree.
The back door of The Lab Tor open and they foiled out.
He cried out.
They fell in squacks,
they fell crackwards,
they tumblrd over The Word into the data.

The instruments were empty and they chortled at him,
trains-frogrified into a thought and a mind,
and he stood . . .
his body far away and absent,
letting his words do their re-inking tic.

Could he hold up a hand,
and tell them he had spent ninetbeen thousand years learning this tic
and others,
tell them of the instruments
and the words that had tested them?
Not with his mouth.
But his read
deadhead could tell
its own blue taile .

[. . You do not thrill with your mouth.
One who thrills with their mouth has forgotten the cage of their selfse.
You thrill with your throughts. .]
-- Stephen King, Frogman

. . I realized I was Laughing. I had been crying all along . }
-- Roland Deschain, Tacky Frogman's Frogman

Magenta: You thrilled them?
                But I thought you shneeded them.
                They shneeded you.

Riff Raff: THEY DIDN'T SHNEED ME!
               THEY NEVER SHNEEDED ME!

STOP: TURN THOUGHT

RECORD: THURSDAY'S CHILD
FROGMAN: DAVID BUOY

The fiend became complacent towards control of its own free-ways,
and let lonely throughts tarry it whenever they needed to be.
And in its wake lie
their ghostly work on the lies
of the Brads and Janets of The Word.
-- Thrusher Swainson, Bear M.B.

Frank: Give yourself over to instinctual pleasure.

I wanted to breathe smoke.
I wanted to churn the Louvre.
I'd do the Elgin Marbles with a ban-hammer
and wipe my class with the Mona Lisa.
This is My Word, now.
This is my word,
MY WORD,
and those ancient Brads and Janets are data.
-- You and Me and Everyone We See

(. . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . )

We rest; a dream has power to fission sleep.
We rise; one pweandering thought foallutes the day.
We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,
embrace fond woe, or cast our tares all-ways;
It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow,
The all-ways of its way-out still are FREE.
whoman's festerday may ne'er be like his marrow;
nought may endure but mutantility!
-- Percy Bysshe Shelley Frogman

Johnny's: While this may be true,
                 mutantility isn't always enough.
                 Some moments

STOP: TURN THOUGHT

RECORD: AROUND MY HEAD
FROGMAN: CAGE THE arrogANT

The Word to me became a secret,
which i re-sired to risk-over;
to her it was a cravancy,
which she sthrought to triple with imaginations of hers
cho-zen.
-- Victor Frankenstein, Johnny

Kevin Flynn (Johnny's): The DeadHead. Digital Frontier Psychiatry.
                                           I tried to picture it,
                                          stores of data as they moved through the mind.
                                      
                                       What did they Store away?
                                       Hopes?
                                       Dreams?

                                       Were the lines of throught like all-free-ways?
                                       I kept dreaming of words I thought I'd never catch.
                                       And then, one moment...

7 Year Old Sam Flynn (Suzy's): You got it.

Kevin Flynn (Johnny's): That's right, man.
                                               I got it.

Frank: It was strange the way it happened.
           Suddenly... you get a brache!

           All of the collected throughts seem to fit into place.
           What a sucker you've been,
           what a FTOOL you've been.
           The answer was there all the time.
            It took an Instinctual Moment to make it happen.
            AN ACCIDENT!
            And that is how I disco-veersed the secret.
            that elusive thought, that...
            thought that is the test of freedom...
            YES I have that data!
            I hold the key to freedom... ITSELFSE!

STOP: TURN THOUGHT

I can put my words
into pretty poems.
And share all the love
into this Hello Poetry.
But there is something
you didn't know about me.
How can I say this easy.
I feel so much love.
And my throughts are filled
with hope, tender love
and care.
But my own true emotions
I can hardly speak out.
I can put up a smile
but still crying inside.
I do think that I can solve
all my problems on my own.
As I'm writing this down
it sounds kind of sad.
Like a writers block
inside of my head.
No one can change it for me.
This is me in all
of my vulnerability.
Don't feel sorry.
This is how life could be.
But in times and years.
I found my place and learned
so much about being me.
And that was the part you
didn't know about me.