the sleep-thoughts, the tiredness -- i saw faces, empty sockets, mouths in distorted
screams; i watched as a discolored brain pulsed wetly, opening slits in its own matter.
then the walls of a small-town gas station, lined with bright friendly jars, a crippling
sensation of menace. and then i felt the sensation that i was in world behind the
curtain, so to speak, though not like the unknowable -- more the
things that just don't get seen, the afterthoughts, the betwixt-and-between in the movies
linking the plotlines. and then i was thinking something about the concentric nature of
thoughts and images, like here is the central thing, the focus, and here are the natural
offshoots of those, and of them; and when you are aware your brain works outwards; you
focus on the main themes and are increasingly vaguely aware of the less and less relevant
connections -- except those times where you suddenly lose your train of thought in a jerk,
like your brain gets distracted by one particular distant offshoot, which is why sometimes
you can trace back to your original thought, layer to layer. and it's like when i'm in my
movie-image tiredness, that central thought is no longer processed, and i'm only seeing
the offshoots in rings and layers, linking fluidly to each other but without the context
of their centering, their base --