William Everest's Dream

Seconds after I fell asleep; I had already returned to the interior of that strange, monolithic church of ages past. It seemed to me, for the most part, to be an ordinary day, peaceful even....and then we all heard the noise.

A noise like a raging herd of bull elephants--only demonically mechanized--came roaring in from across the valley; peppered with the sound of violent explosions and tempered flames; and then amid cacophonous screaming and rising plumes of smoke, the engines of destruction themselves appeared. Glimmering jet black in the crimson, smoke-choked afternoon sun--like some diabolical futuristic brand of combat tank--the death-machines surrounded the academy as they finished what appeared to have been a fairly thorough rampage across the entire city. Their automatically-controlled hatches disengaged. And flooding forth from the metallic monsters came a most terrifying army, like nothing of this world; sheathed in ivory-coloured armour and bearing distressing white gas-masks; nearly as terrible as that of their leader. The leader was caped in gold and armoured entirely in the blackish-maroon of pure violence. The leader bore a hideous, avian-looking mask, and brandished a funerarily bejeweled staff. As the hellish nightmare army stormed their way into the building; they immediately began herding hordes of terrified occupants into the display room; except for me and a few others, who were subjugated to the north foyer instead. And there we sat, watching helplessly as the soldiers sealed the doorways to the auditorium with tape; and then we heard the horrid screams of crazed humans whose mind was being hopelessly destroyed by a gossamer white mist sprayed from hoses of the death machines, followed by their poisoned death cries. Yet the crowning moment of horror was soon to follow, when the dark-shrouded leader of the infernal army entered the foyer and gleefully removed his mask.....and my own face, ravaged by untold years and unspeakable evil, stared back at me.

After I awoke, I spent the rest of the day fearing my own future, permanently tormented by a surreal premonition. And to make matters worse, it was my birthday.


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I was once a member of a very important planning committee... okay, so maybe it was technically a day class. We spent our time trying to come up with new, exciting destinations for enlightening journeys; although to date, only one suggestion (Antarctica), has ever been used. I myself typed up no less than six journey-information brochures, made to give details about the program to potential customers; despite the amount of effort I put into them, they were apparently written in a format that did not do justice to that of the others; and were therefore never used. The venture was all and all a failure, hence the reason there has never been a similar program since.

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Whenever I look down upon The Valley, I find myself feeling slightly disappointed and saddened when I think what The Valley apparently looked like before the ravages of settlement. I imagine dense tracts of cottonwood spotting an otherwise open scrubland, creeks running undisturbed, and uncarven mountainsides still bristling with sub-alpine vegetation. Nowadays, all you see is scores of buildings, roads, car-parks, and suburban neighborhoods shrouded in introduced, overly-green trees. Parks, which would normally show what the land looked like before the city, are too unnaturally irrigated in The Valley to give a window into the landscape’s past. None of this, of course, is inherently bad; cities are built, terrain changes, and I ultimately can’t personally complain that much about the results (although I will admit to having an exclusive hatred of glass and metal buildings for aesthetic reasons).

Clog Introduction

This is not a blog...


This is a clog...

A consciousness log, a literary distillate of the very basis of sentient perception filtered through a fine screen of heavy allegory, pointless rambling, and overly-ambitious sentence structure. This is not a place where you will find someone writing about what they bought at the nearest convenience last Tuesday, or voicing their opinions about their local government representatives or how Linux will bring about world peace any day now. No, this is a place where symphonies are composed of drunken ramblings, where intellectual plankton blooms from each and every interrobang, where long and pleasantly deranged narratives about moles, aether, and ancient seas, and even the occasional Adolf Wölfli-style comic strip all find their home together in one grand cognitive object d’art for all the family. In other words, this website is either an experimental attempt at creating the most pretentious thing ever known to man; or a post-modern first step in discovering the true nature of reality. In any event, the following is best read in the most enjoyably preposterous voice you’re mind/preferred text-to-speech program can manage; and also feel free to copy-and-paste any portion of this text, creatively alter it using Burroughsian text-cut-up software, even use it as a seed to start a clog of your own (it’s a way of life!).

(all spelling/grammatical mistakes in the following have been left in intentionally for authenticity.)

-Part I: Dionysian Litany in 5 Parts, Allegro-

1) Badly Derailed Biblical Commentary (or something)

It all works if you own a guitar. This is all a mistake, writing that was a mistake too; but oh well. Isaac made a discovery. Aaron is insane. Syrup of noodles! This is the first post! this is the ultimate experience. Everything is fine, everything is at peace, this is a clog in the collective mind of the universe itself. It is great. it is not a blog. we read this in the morning, we read this in the evening. ‘tis good, ‘tis good. His toenails are painted. this is like The Untitled Document. She was just not cool about any of it. I garden the collective mind of the universe itself, for that is why I am called The Wayward Gardener. Arrest the the Pope!

2) The Driving Suite (beginning to lose coherency)

She may be haggard, but all is well. The Conciousness log. This can totally be edited. That is so stupid....Maybe too much so. It is okay. Ley mwe drive. If im not aliv. oh well. Tammy was like 32!!! This is whatnot it is....This is the first post on the clog. Editing may be required. Note to self; don’t fall in the pool. th. DRIVE. THIS is just tooo much. Let Madison drive. THIS is the driving suite. I’m still alive. but if not. Oh well, suavè. Maybe too far. I don’t think I canm drive right now.


3) The Chlorinated Quinine Retrospective (totally unhinged)

This is so good. EVerything is happening as it’s sposed to be!!!! The water makes people normal. Everythin is a mouth in one sense or another. This is the masterpiece of conciousness. A turning point. Aweake fro the dream. But is it really clogged or just broken‽ awake from another dream in Costa Rica,,,I have emerged, don’t forget the triple comma. “Awaken from the dream, my son, And you will have a new sense of everything”.

4) Doubting Integrity (regaining composure)

Billy Everest was right, this was too weird. What will be usable from this disaster? But truly it is an epic in it’s own right, is it not? Shouldn’t apologise for you’re iPhone, it’s alright.




5) The Hedonist’s Revelation

With Dave Brubeck in the background, he realizes the purpose of his life is that one should not mostly not care about it. Pleasure is the ultimate good, pain is the ultimate evil; Practical Hedonism. Just watch out; this is important, don’t forget to ask for the phone numbers of you’re revelation! What is to be changed...what is not! This should be truly groundbreaking. You will never forget! so don’t worry about it!!! The tune of the Spider!!! Alot of exclamation points!!! This is important. This is The Power... That’s right!!! + ∞ happiness.

This...
Is....
A...
Clog!!!!!!!!!


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Consider the barren, empty lots of your imagination tastefully gardened...