They say when a man's in space, he can think for hours and never get bored with the same subject. That train went on for hours, dude. I can see myself now, flying through a bed of spikes that turn out to be a meteor. All crystallized and shit. You just gotta try and grab a hold of one and hope you're not too close to the sun. It gets hot there. It's always hot there. Not that that's such a bad thing, you know. You're just, you know, sweaty. And when you get sweaty, you stick to things. And you don't want to get stuck to someone and not feel the same about her if you know what I mean. Or you could go for a he, if you're feelin' multisexual. But you can't expect it to be all fun and sugarbees. You gotta expect a rash. You know what I mean? I ain't asking you anything else, I promise. Okay? Cool. Cause' you ain't gonna answer me anyways. So dude, where was I? Oh yeah, you're flying through space, and you notice that time's gone by. But you don't, you know? It's like you've been on this flying turtle, and then you were playing, and then all of a sudden you notice the palace and all those pillars are still really shiny. And that makes you think. And then you start swimming all the way back, and the waters always still warm. And it's space, so you can see right through it. And it can see right through you. So you get back and everything's all dust and mushrooms. So eventually you go through this sort of transindental stage. Eventually you get back, but it stays with you. Even when you can't remember it. Irrevocably you end up back in a funk. You ever been in the funk? It's hell on the stomach. It sort of gets you going once you're out, like a pick-me-up. But when your in it, you forget all of that. All you can remember is what's happening there, and that feels like forever. It goes on, and your thoughts slow down, and you hear them a thousand times. Until they start sounding like a different thought, each time they echo. So it sounds like your having the same horrible nightmare, over and over again. You remember things. Like episodes of the Twilight Zone, where the guy keeps riding the train through Connecticut. He starts dreaming. He's back in Mark Twains day, and everything's all slowed down to a crawl and beautiful. It's this town called Wiloughby. He keeps saying he's gonna get off there, but then he decides not to. Then he wakes up and he's going home to his wife who's supposed to be like 25, but she looks like she's like 80. It's pretty freaky, but I guess that's the effect they we're going for inadvertently. Then he goes back to his fat boss as an executive. Then he freaks out, and his old ass wife leaves him. So he gets back on the train and starts dreaming he's back in Wiloughby. This time he gets off the train, and he's all got this new hat. The kinda hat you could die in, you know? And that's when it pans over, and all of a sudden you see him dead by the side of the railroad, and the conductor sayin' how he jumped off, and died instantly. Then the mortuary van is pulling away, and on the back there's a sign that says "Wiloughby and Son". That's when I started thinking to myself. Man I doubt I could have resisted gettin' off at Wiloughby. Shit, I doubt I'd pass it up. I'm just a man sometimes too. I couldn't fuckin' resist that one. I mean damn, could you?

Study of a weird Piece of mind,
By Sir Horatio Charles Reginald
aka. Beau