More Than I Can Chew

What have I done? This is a mammoth task I have undertaken. I'm not going to give this up though, I committed myself to this as soon as I became aware of the atrocities. Right, I need to sort my information overload into the cabinet of curiosities. The layout and colour scheme of the blog needs a desperate makeover, I'm going to stick a wig on it. For future readers, the colour scheme at the time of writing this was a penguin-rolling-down-a-hill sort of colour and surprisingly not very fun. You'd exit the blog and move onto greener pastures with white font still emblazoned on the pupils of your eyes. I want something light, because right now it's like a dingy website for dingy activities in dingy bedrooms. That was never the intention. Learning is fun, right? Yeah, is fun. So I need to get a good breeze going through here, appealing atmosphere that bananas would be fond of.

I'm going to start to archive some of my symbolic experiences. They will be found further back, dated accurately (where possible) or approximately; dates that precede the emergence of this blog in May 2014.

I'm also attempting to read three books at once, which is never a good idea. My brain feels like it's about to explode and in the air the words will waltz together and I'll be saying, 'No, no, don't get mixed up'. I am shuffling along with Richard Sauder's Kundalini Tales, properly assigning myself to Self-Hypnosis and Scientific Self-Suggestion by William J. Ousby, and apparently I thought it'd be a good idea to re-read Grace Slick's memoir Somebody to Love?

It's not a good idea. I will have to take to reading one at a time. Conversely, it's the very worst idea to not read at all. If I'm not reading, I'm not able to write as fluently or unwind.

Providing I get on with it, which I have to really, then I'll write anything applicable here. That's if I don't get fixated on the shiny, shiny cover of GS's memoir. Afterwards I aim to dive into Break On Through (Jim Morrison biography), as it seems somehow logical. And, as if that wasn't enough, a friend is expecting me to read Bound Together (The Libertines unofficial biography). I'm going to have a meltdown. It's not about reading this, reading that, sailing through, eyes closed, nailing pages to the wall; what my friend doesn't realise is that there are special ways of doing these things, a combination, an order which makes them most effective. That order isn't set in stone either, it depends on the distortion of space and time. And all of this damn research I've done in almost two years, a rough estimate with the calculator, an average of 10 hours spent each day, that's around 7300 hours of information, all spiky and untameable, which I'm trying to put into words and convey, while still consuming more information every new day. And with a new job on the horizon, it's only going to get trickier. Of course, I will find a way.