I was blessed with eidetic memory of sorts.
I can remember the most minute details of things when I was TOO YOUNG to have any sort of memory collection. I mean, smells, real memories of events, people, even animal encounters.
I know, crazy right?
I even take it to the nth degree as you can well imagine.
I have the ability to feel imagined things.
You are thinking he’s so stoned even he doesn’t know it!
Well, not entirely wrong.
I can actually feel what it feels like to have your insides sting and burn, as a long knife slices through your gut and spills your intestines right onto your Tony Llama boots.
As a choir of children look on, confused, vomiting children.
The nth degree.
I have felt the burn of a real bullet inside the confines of my flesh, as well as the imagined situations where I was shot, knifed, or crushed to death.
Imagining you are being crushed to death is a sick one.
I can actually feel the separate bones break under enormous pressure as the shards poke their jagged splinters through my flesh. I feel my chest being crushed, deflating my damaged lungs and sinking my hopes for life.
I honestly fell like I already know what it will feel like to take the last breath of my life.
I’ve done it already.
I even imagined what it would actually feel like to be a contestant in Nathan’s annual pigfest. I could feel my jaws slacken, as I imagined stuffing hot dogs and soggy buns down my throat until the inevitable happened.
I threw up.
I could feel the reflux of stomach acid climb up my esophagus and I could actually pick out individual voices and conversations of people in the crowd, even going so far as recalling the slogans and logos of their t-shirts.
That’s when you know you’re fucked up.
I don’t want to jinx how good the weather is so far, but I have to share a few pictures of some of the land near the houses we have been looking at:
I can get used to this and some of the walking trails and MetroParks are money.
I am unable to record in this little hotel room, so I had every intention of including my rendition of what else?
Where Are You Now? by Dwight Yoakam.
So I owe you one.