Birdman is Sick.  The World is Half Changed.

Thereís a buzzing chatter.  Voices in the white noise.  High-pitched ahs that would make a dog howl.  Thereís a song like one that would go with a nursery rhyme, horrible in its simplicity and innocence in the context of such painful sizzles.  I throw myself down to be skinned.  Something like embarrassment because never have I seen myself in the scorching light of Truth.  I am split open left and right; dissected and analyzed, seeing it as I am doing it.  I see exactly where those channels/pathways were worn into my brain.  Iím opened up and still operating items moving like flashes through the fibers.

Lightning fast cars with headlights blending into that high-pitched roar.

I was told Iím suppose to help people THROUGH this kind of ordeal.  It helps to have been there.  These guys know what they are doing or I donít know anything at all.  Which I donít.  What does this have to do with the world?  What does the world have to do with it?  Who cares?  Is this True Confessions or what?  Theoretically I know Iíve been this naked before.  But itís forbidden to see that while the pen is in hand, I guess.  Iím being emptied.  No baggage is allowed; down to the essential nature, all naked.  Modesty is left behind.  The words are falling away.  Sizzles and sighs.  Directionless.  Not in control.  Falling but lighter than space.  Colors; too many to record.  Shimmering, I suppose, and expanding into experience only to be forgotten later.  If I look for a face, I see it, and it draws me towards it and shapes me for some utilitarian task.  I love that face.  I want it to kiss me so it does.  Those large lips opened and swallowed me whole into another womb.  A nourishing sphere is around me.  Thereís no pain, no worry, no discomfort.  A blank form.  It was filled in but to me itís still-blank.  A neutron on a collision course with the all-attractive proton.  A mindless sperm only seeing its goal which is its own death and a future it cannot know.  This contact causes an IMplosion and Iím cuddling with my creator like a puppy-dog.  Nothing could exist without Love.  Iíll have to leave Him just like my dog dies and left me and the joy becomes its opposite again and again and again.  But itís easy for ME to com back as I have just proved.  It only doesnít SEEM so.  But I KNOW so.  Thatís ALL I know.