If I could, I might actually have a few more nodes than Pseudo_Intellectual.

Alas, as long I'm reduced to typing my thoughts in manually, I fear that I'll be nothing more than an occasional blip at the bottom of the Everything's Best Users list.

Of course, it's quality and not quantity that counts, right?

This way, i wouldn't have to deal with all of the complications of "real life".
Imagine being the server. Each new node is some kind of touch. The psychotic midget nodes are like punches. Pseudo_Intellectual is your lover, he touches you the most, and sweetly. There are hundreds of more minor people in your life, each hugging you now and then, and some with kisses for you. You work hard at your job, and the people who you work the hardest for are the ones who love you the most. with whom would you share your hammock?

Forced to be honest to the ones I have led here. It is an E2 side effect. Weaving words, thoughts become nodes become dips into the Universal Subconscious Mind.

A generous and electric flowing charge in the body a highway in the air tiny particles speeding along in whatever shape it thinks up all recorded sharp truths going by fast, leaving intimate and traceable trails of wisdom emotion candor stupidity splendor wonder angst teeth biting down hard on a live wire. If Grandma could look over my shoulder than anyone could and denying a feeling will never impress the abyss. Better braided and beaded and stitched. Embellished and left all tied up in an experiment that mankind is only now capable of pulling off. The whole world talks at once and we all know it. Our passport is THIS; the text spun out by our boned, traceable fingers in the light of a glow box that has ever changing dreams curled up inside. A river, morphing always but suddenly available for study by all of us at once. We dip our poles in the water, squint in the light, reject different fish for altogether different reasons.

Then our dirty and clean parts are equal and remember to mingle. One long piece of yarn becomes our fort. That is when we lose ourselves in the soft warm blanket of everything all at once. Each of us makes a thing that has never been made, a whole perspective jigsaw puzzle. That is when we remember to bend and breathe and dust off our most true feelings and favorite found treasures. That is when we offer them up to this carnal beast that says, “Bring me your thoughts and dreams, I relish them. Here is my breast weary traveler, suckle and be nourished as often as you have need.” If you do it right milk will drip from your chin. One big truth made real by its writers.

Grooved like an LP, canyon withered skin pitted and creased by passage, gravity and the other elements of this tactile and fanciful world we all craft each instant. Not grooved like a hill of mashed potatoes, no forks in my road MAN, no nots in my sentience, few markings, no end. Just YOU, sitting there, bored, bewildered linking in the dim light…what next plotnick?

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