Though my mind is doing exactly what I had wanted it to do -- shutting itself down under the influence of a combination of self-prescribed lithium and alcohol (sometimes you have to take drastic measures to reign yourself in, because you just know it must be done), I must type this rambling before bed. (Those wanting wedding content will get it later. That, and a lot more. But this is something that has to come out gradually. It transformed my life. so... Gotta go slow with it.)

I conceived this message while I drove myself home from the theater. Like a wild man, but in complete safety, I drove Tobias with barefoot feet on the pedals. Speeding up where I could, slowing down appropriately when cops were present, maintaining a constantly refreshing awareness of all cars, and everything else around me. I listened to the brilliant 102.1X at a healthy pulsing volume, loud enough to make me truly feel the base lines. Until I got home.

Now I feel like I'm about to faint. But this must be typed. Then comes bed.

I'm listening to an artist named Nelly Furtado. I acquired this disc on Monday morning in Longview, but hadn't gotten around to listening to it until just now. It still hasn't finished ripping.

Why did I buy this disc? I think it all originated from overhearing a conversation. A conversation about a little girl who appreciates this artist. Nelly writes her own music (well, most of it). It's good, pure stuff. Sounds kinda trippy to me right now, but that's just because I'm in a totally fubared state of mind.

According to the freedb, one of the songs contains a four-letter word in the title, but this word does not appear in the track listing on the back of the album. The cd does not have a parental advisory sticker label, because it rightfully shouldn't. Now how did they sneak that past the censors?

This little girl is not only cute and charming (at age 2, 3, or 4?), but also very smart. She knew enough to realize that she should not sing this music around the adults. These precious tunes were for her to enjoy when she was away from that crowd. It works well for blowing off stress. But the music has an intensity. I'm still just learning it.

This little girl will turn out well. Dozens of people around the church were constantly keeping an eye out for her. Keeping her safe, so she could wander freely as she chose throughout the premises while the ceremony was being prepared. Her sister also plays a key role in her development. I was gratified to hear this.

Some people who follow my life will be more or less surprised to hear that gradually, over the past several months, I went completely off lithium. I hacked my wetwear, and dangerous things happened. I got in a minor fender bender at high speeds at 2am. Fortunately, neither my car nor the other were severely damaged. It could have been much worse. I'm lucky it wasn't. (Do I believe in the concept of guardian angels? No, not really. But still, it make one wonder.)

Tobias got a scar for that. I allowed him to keep that scar, so I would remember the price of carelessness.

I continued to allow my inner energies to build, keeping them in line with semi-regular meditative practices, experiments in lucid dreaming, and a relaxing downtown goth culture, where I could go to relax in solutude when I needed it. (I could also fail at flirting with females there when I was feeling couragously stupid.)

This is NOT something to take lightly. Manic depressives can become totally insane. A nice natural high can transform into a complete loss of grip on reality in a very short amount of time. If that happens, you're toast. So if you're like me, and thinking about doing this... well... don't. Don't try this at home. But if you absolutely must try it, keep yourself at home. Shit. I can't practice what I preach, can I? Too bad for me.

I climbed higher and higher, very carefully checking each and every step. Slow and easy, moment by moment. Check for dreams. Do the Memento thing. Let my mind get fucked up, but be awake enough to know what's happening, and observe my own brain carefully.

Exercise. Get sunshine. Touch the earth. Find your base. Learn to respect your mother. The ground, I mean. That's where the energy lies.

Back in May, a an old friend and I went and visited someone who he had met at a concert. These people were hospitable, good people. They offered us beer and food. I felt at home in their place right away. I admired them, and their music, though I hadn't heard of most of it prior to that day.

But I can't ramble all night. I'm beyond sleepy. I gotta get to the point.

Kids, here's the deal: The adults are asleep. Fast asleep. They don't know what's going on. They're confused, and they've numbed themselves. Wouldn't you? If the twin icons of your nation's financial well-being are swept away in the violent sweep of one morning, there's going to need to be some major painkiller. Morphine for the soul.

That's what the mainstream media has been pumping out in heavy doses. Religion too. Opiate of the masses indeed. It's necessary, at least for a while. I suspect a long while. So what does this mean for us, the young ones, who can see that we are being lied to?

[Now I'm ripping Lords of Acid, another disc I bought in Longview. I will be listening to the oggs momentarily. It will counter the drugs and temporarily wake my brain up long enough to finish this rambling.]

It means we have freedom. True freedom. IF we use it wisely. We can sneak whatever we want to, right under our parents' noses, and they won't notice, because they're too busy watching CNN. (Not that there's anything wrong with CNN.)

If you need to violate an unjust law, whether it was made by your parents, the government, the RIAA, the MPAA, or someone else, do so discretely. I'm not advocating civil disobedience at this time. Nobody wants to see you demonstrate your true patriotism. Just keep it inside you, and do what you need to do.

Beware the cops, respect them if they do come near, and remember that they too are mostly asleep. If you alarm them, they may strike out. Then you would have to worry. But don't. Just let them pass. Use a Jedi mind trick if you need to. (If you don't know how to do that, consult a Jedi Master. They're around.)

Practice free speech where it is welcome. There are places popping up all over the place. I am confident that one can be found in just about any locale in the nation. One I like is down in Denver on 13th street, between Grant and Logan. It's a non-descript building, so it doesn't draw attention to itself. But inside, there is an active night life that happens every weekend. Their cover is reasonable, and they're not out to be greedy. They're just running a business. If you have money, buy something from them. If you're not into alcohol, buy a sprite, and give the bartender a tip. It's just the right thing to do. Lots of people do it.

(Hmmm... Perhaps the example I used was poor, since that particular place usually requires you to be 21 to get in. There are some good reasons for that. But there are other places for younger ones. They're around. I just haven't visited them.)

Hmmm... What am I saying? I know there was more, but I'm losing it here. Gotta finish up and sleep.

Tomorrow, I'm going to go back to work and resume the role of Thomas A. Anderson. I've depleted my bank account to hell. A common symptom of a manic depressive freak as he cycles higher and higher. But nothing I won't recover from, provided my day job doesn't go away.

I've been sexually promiscious. Another common symptom. I still don't regret it. In fact, I think I will be again, and with the same person again. That's something to do when my bank account gets recharged a little later.

I've had massive delusions of grandeur, especially during the night hours. Almost unbridled, but I always managed to use meditative practices to reel the mind back in before morning, right as the sun came up. Nobody else had any idea. Except maybe a couple of individuals who saw me during the night after Sunday.

But nobody, not even me, knows just how close to the edge of oblivion I got while I rode the flight from Portland to Denver. Well, maybe the man two seats over in the plane. At a couple moments, as I brought myself back from a high where I slept with my eyes wide open, I caught him staring intently at me directly. His gaze was intense and unwavering. I'm not exactly certain what he was thinking, but I could take a wild guess or two.

This kid is on some seriously dangerous drugs. I should call the police when we land. He could be getting ready to kill someone. Why else would his lips be moving slightly while he stares blankly off into space? (And I could be totally off. Maybe he was thinking something completely different.)

When I saw this man, I realized that I have to much much more careful about how I let myself go in public. Healthy paranoia can be good sometimes, as long as you don't act on it hastily or irrationally. It's your safety system. Just don't let it control you. Use it to your advantage. An instinct to tell you who and what you can trust, and who not to trust.

When I became fully aware of what was going on, I stared back at the gentleman. If he was thinking what I thought he might be thinking, I had to put the fear of God into him. Don't act irrationally. Restate my assumptions.

Just do the same thing to him that he is doing to me. Stare at him. Until he backs off. Let him know with my eyes, that if he does do anything to harm me, he will pay. If he does call the cops to have me checked out, I will make him look so crazy and ridiculous that he himself might feel he has lost his mind. I will prove clean on any tests. My bloodstream clear of any illegal substances. I will speak calmly and intelligently to the officers, convincing them that I am not a threat to anyone.

I had to hide the fact that I was psychotic. I had to act as asleep as the rest of the world. I had to pretend that the hallucinations I was having were not real, until I was absolutely sure that somebody else was seeing the same things I was seeing. Then I could look. Acting is a good survival skill to know sometimes.

Yes, over the edge. Completely insane. But so calm about it that I could unnerve people if I wanted to. I did so to my mother. I realized she was getting very fidgety and nervous, and it only increased as I sat still and silent. I realized that the reason she was getting more fidgety and nervous with every second was because I did not share her nervousness. I was calm beyond reproach, despite my mind's unfolding wild insanity.

She didn't know she was suffering because she was trying so desperately to escape that her eyes were blinded to her own desperation. I sympathized. Gently, I channeled a mild wave of spirit at her, and she fell fast asleep on the plane for a while. When she woke up, she chatted with the gentleman who stared at me.

This is what true buddhism is all about. At least, that's my buddhism. Maybe other people do different things.

So anyway... Tomorrow, Thomas A Anderson will wake up very tired, and make his way to work. He won't be sure if what he had last night was a dream, or reality. But somewhere, the seed is planted anyway.

Rejoice, for The Matrix has been hacked! Game Over. And goodnight, world. Midnight is my upper limit. Over and out.