Streaming Flood


First Stream Of Consciousness for 2015

I’ve got a mental plug I need to pull and let loose the flood of brain crazy pent up in that potato chip bag I call Floritos, that’s right, I just called my mind a bag of chips, salty, processed, platinum bullshit fountain spewing boogers of inanity, what?, backup and pause, let’s rethink this puzzler, captain of conundrum and cognitive cryptograms, this is the name I have given myself because I am the fucking shit…muncher licking up the salt wound shit stains on the sidewalks of San Franpissco, why is this city so nasty with its broken down toilet seat escalators?, how’s that for irony?, ban plastic bags, get a citywide enema and urinary tract infection, alright I just got back on the gross short bus, sorry about that fellas and girl fellas, or should I call you hellraisers, fantastic exclamation points of walking human vibrancy, you are the secret stars of a city gone mad frenzy with self importance by lukewarm poseurs imitating pop artholics, yeah, bro, big data for the win! everything is a system to be solved and stuck under the thumb of analytics, hey, didn’t you know you’re just a number in a cog spinning 1’s and 0’s repeatedly, day in and night out, getting crunched by big servers with big digital balls, well, I’ve got some good ol’ fashioned fleshy cajones to wiggle waggle wibble wobble atcha, be the big X, that big anomaly .0000000000001 that makes those black boxes wrinkle with their petabytes of power and heat smoke stroke suffer shutdown hell, get those unblinking empty eyes with some life and live a little in the world or can you even see green trees anymore through that green screen of matrix dribble?, I’ve got chills/they’re multiplying/and I’m losing control, get on the Lo-Fang, forget the swarmy marmy Grease, but you don’t need no man, you don’t need anyone to give you lucid lectures that pin your spirit down under parsed semantics and technicalifragiliciousnous, fuck you insidious insipid ignoble ignoramuses, get out there and be in the world.

yeah, the sky says hi. can you even see it anymore?

– Rebel Rabbit

Sign-up for updates and exclusive clues to my upcoming book, BOX.


Last Stream of Consciousness For The Year

Mini-falls from Hanging Lake trail

Falling Stream

Final Thoughts of the Year

This is the end, this is the beginning, this is the middle of the muck and I’m a perpetual snot monster breathing cold air, time goes tick tock, I go plip plop, drip drip dripping ooze noggin into written word or is it a dream stuck in a book stuck in a rag stuck in a garbage bag stuck on a train next to a hobo smoking a corn cob pipe full of spinach and he has the toughest nose around and he drinks out of a bottle of olive oil and why does he have a tattoo of an anchor on his massive bicep? what? where did I go there? let’s gently nudge it back, c’mon it’s ok, it’s safe to play in that outside where the road meets the curb and the sand becomes stuck mud on shoes and tracked into cars into cafes into life and spread all over the dreams of those who walk the million miles back and forth tuning out reason and continuously living an insane sanity curved around a flag pole and yelling out anthems to no one listening because it’s the thing to do, because it’s always the thing to do, to spit in cycles and irrelevant patterns only to fold in on itself and become a wet swamp ass mess and then it becomes too much so there on the horizon lays the next spit monster to latch onto and forget about anything from the past because what is there to learn anymore but more of the same, we know we know we know everything and everything knows it’s no longer a mystery but a burden of entertainment so make those resolutions and thoughts of inaction and keep on keepin on because next year will find yourself thinking the same things and doing the same things and blazing the same old trails that snuffed out back in the middle and it will all be so progressive and amazing and shit until you wake up and stop hitting the snooze and take a cold shower to wash off the cake of dried salt you cried all over yourself and then when you dry out your skin and make a mess of your hair you will grab that oversized towel and pat yourself down and maybe you’ll comb your hair so you have a new look of freshness and get those teeth sparkly white because outside of that door lays the universe of things to be if you have the courage to step through and grab the string dangling down from that weightless balloon that doesn’t look sturdy enough to carry your weight, but it will, my friend, I tell you it will.

All you have to have is courage.

– Year of the Rabbit

Eternally Standing By

Cot tled

Clusterf*** At O’Hare

Well, I’m back in the states and will be posting about my short Danish excursion soon. In the meantime, here’s the story of an asian dude who flew 14 hours to O’Hare airport to find out that his flight had been transferred to another flight 6 hours later, then canceled and ironically put on standby on his original flight, only to get pushed to standby to the next flight 4 hours later while booking another ticket as back-up for an even later flight, and then taking a much deserved one hour nap only to wake and find that he was dropped from standby and all existing flight reservations, and having to explain the situation to the most ambivalent customer representative ever in the universe who tried to blame him for taking a nap without double checking everything even though he was repeatedly assured everything was fine which was why he took a nap in the first place, and then chewing out said lazy representative, well, because angry, then going to another representative who had no problem fixing his issue in less than 5 minutes, and then waiting for the last flight out of O’Hare only to find out that it had no crew because the crew hadn’t flown in yet, and the entire tarmac was backed up, so said asian dude called O’Hare dedicated flight booking line to reserve the first flight out in the morning as yet another back up plan and then learning that his current flight was now a standby situation which was even more frustrating, so much tired and hangry (that’s a word) asian dude decides to take residence in the airport for the night on the many provided cots at the butt end of the airport where everyone is looking dead wasted like a congregation of drunken frat partiers, but much less fun because there was no drunkenness, nor extreme partying, just exhausted travelers spending the night together huddled on their cold cots, dreaming of the salvation of their return flight to cozy homes (car in his case), only to get rudely woken at 4AM because why not?, so groggy asian dude gets a free toothbrush kit and groggily saunters over to the bathroom to take care of the biz only to realize his pants keep falling down and then realizing his belt is in his checked-in luggage, so what does our mighty hero do?, he pulls out the airplane earphones he wisely kept just in case of audio emergency and uses it for pantaloon emergency, after admiring his handiwork he zombie shuffles over to the gate where his flight is…dun, dun, dun…on time and he finds an unopened bag of popcorn just sitting next to him unattended, so he asks around for the owner with no reply and with big grin on face proceeds to stuff his mouth full of puffy, caramel goodness while waiting for his still on time flight and then finally, after 19 hours delayed at O’Hare, he gets on his flight back to Kansas City where it’s cold as a winter shit stuck on the frozen tundra. The End.


Improv Belt

– Laidover Rabbit

Life Is A Paradox…A Mirror Of Confusion



This guy.

This guy is a nutball. He’s eccentric, off-kilter and perhaps, just perhaps, tapped into the universal and united treatise that makes us all free peoples. His name is Matthew Silver, performance artist and improv/stream of consciousness genius.  I have great admiration for what this man does. He challenges society to look beyond physical presentation and listen to underlying truths and even absurdities in life. He makes us laugh when we prefer to watch and judge, challenging us to drop the facades we hold so tightly to. He makes us ask: Who are we trying to impress all the time? What is this form of life we cannot look beyond?

He reveals the BOX.

And he reveals how to break down the very essences of our daily trappings. Perhaps his methodology is extreme, but it is the crazy and extreme that we need to combat an insane society viewing itself as the litmus norm. He shows us that taking social risk isn’t necessarily something to be feared but embraced and enjoyed with each other. He is one man capable of provoking ideas and emotions within us that we do not readily know how to express. All of this in the guise of humorous and random street performance. Yes, much of his performances can be perceived as complete jibberish, but if you’re willing to stick around, eventually, you will hear the greatest of wisdom come. Through the paradox of life and mirror of confusion comes simple truth from the most unlikeliest of places.

I salute you Matthew Silver. Bacock! phbbbtttt!

– Paradox Rabbit

BOX Sign-Up Form

Sweat Dream

sweat card

Boxed in. A last gasp for breath through a long straw pulling bubbles out of soda pop bottles, thick air, steam faced, lungs burned. Dry mouth stench, suck in, snore out, whimper, whine, choke on spit, gasp. This heat is unbearable. It is a dragon pulling its tail through parched nostrils, flying its circuit, grimacing its contempt for life. Burn, everything, burn it wants, it loves you to ashes. I’m swimming in a pool upside down floating towards the bottom, refreshing, drowning, sulfuric. Wake up. I can’t. The body realizes it is thirsty and sizzling, seized in paralysis. I know the windows are open. I know it’s 6 AM and I should wake and find shade for the morning but sleep is home and home is wear the burn is. It’s the 18th day and I’ve seen my skin through time lapse stretch and thin, the flakes on my lips showing the world a drought field, lick-stained, ouch. It’s going to be 108 degrees Sunday. My eyes drop and my gaze wavers in a defeated moment, slow blink, heart sinks, heart seizes. Am I having a waking heart attack? Every inside part of me wants to excrete out of all my pores. Sweat is winning, clothes are losing. Swamp ass. I want to eat some fruit. Some watermelon and pineapple chunks would be nice. A little sweet succor to light on my tongue, give me moisture, give me closed eye smile. Am I smiling? Did I eat something? Wait, I’m still sleeping, body contorted and rigid in ways non-acrobatic. Elegance is on the other side of the room. Here is a hot mess of slobbery, drool on pillow, hair in sweaty, tangled knots, yummy, I’d fuck me…with a hose. Will someone pour a bucket of water on me? C’mon, man! You see it in the movies all the time. Where’s a prankster when you need one? 1…2…3…wake the fuck up you blubbering fuckwit. Fuckwit, that’s my brain talking back. It’s stuck in my sweat lodge skull and wants to skull fuck its way out. I recommend the earholes. Less slimy than the nostrils, but then again, brain, slimefest. Yeah, this is some kind of weird, aware dream. That’s me right here. That’s me in there. The nerve endings are working, but the motor skills are disabled. C’mon. Climb out, rung by rung. You can do it, snort, cough, ungodly, indecipherable noise, yeah, yeah, yeah! I’m out! Fuck. That was exhausting. Back to bed.

– Heatstroke Rabbit

BOX Sign-Up Form

Dream Stream

dream a dream


A Mythical Dream Stream

there lived a man, his very being filled with remorse, imprisoned on a raft in the middle of the sea surrounded by bitter songbirds singing the woes of his heart, he lived each day to die a little death and in time all that he witnessed withered without hope, ruby red to blackest ash, brightest light to pitch gloom, the tentacles of his grey expanded beyond his anchored ship to infect the sea, this sea known as Plenitude, abundance of sorrow, Plenitude flowed into the oceans and fed the courses of the rivers and streams of the world, the salt of the man’s tears became the currency of the waters, trade flourished and the creatures of the sea grew from this anguished abundance to evolve and populate the lands, carrying within them the memories of the fractured man, ancestral dreams of his burden, ages turned into millenniums, creatures turned sentient and developed the know how to build great wonders without knowing the experiment they carried out, programmed by the essence of his needs and longings, the long deliberation of time saw that the creatures succumbed to the poison ushered forth from his heart, destruction and blight filled the land of wonders, subsuming back into salt, and still the forever man lay on his raft, bonded to the craft of his own design, an open prison besieged by the elements, the songbirds tethered to eternally be his spinning mobile song, crying, crying, crying to be free of his endless wails not knowing that their cries were his and that their song would reach the furthest of stars to infect the space that divides, only history knows now what great failure produced this entropic man, from time to time his weeping mutterings carrying the semblance of clarity, uttering forth the broken story of his lifetime, an experiment, a mistake, a wrong unable to be righted, and he lies with eyes blistered and bubbled over from the eons of exposure to the suns damaging rays, he has forgotten his name, he has forgotten his purpose, yet, he is still ever searching his shattered mind for the answer to a puzzle that forever eludes him, the puzzle now just a lost notion, but he does remember one thing and takes comfort in knowing the only thing he knows, remorse.

– Mythical Rabbit

Solve the box, unlock the box, mystery and intrigue, grand adventure

Life Astounding In All Its Misery And Glory – A Rainy Stream


Poor bird. That would pretty much be my predicament today. In my infinite wisdom, I decided to take a short coastal camping excursion this week without checking the weather. Good job, me. At least I found a cafe to work on BOX. To commemorate this prodigious lapse in judgment, I present to you my rainy day stream of consciousness:

Fade to Black water with an apropos guitar solo, thwomp in the brainstem and then its over and I stare uselessly out there, out there where it’s the world serving me a wet lozenge, giving me a dirty slurp and telling me to get back into my red cocoon, to hell with that, I want to be out there in the muck because out there is life astounding in all its cold misery and glory, huddle away if that serves you best, but for me I rest easy in H2Oliness, bring me drenched hair and wildness, bring me winds to suffer against and I’ll show you how to stand in defiance, forget me not world when I get washed away in my stubbornness, the cliff calls, the cliff says jump ahoy and see if you can fly to the next life, there is no down, just the creep in that hole you call a bosom.

– Drenched Rabbit

Cleansing Stream

By The Aegean

This is simply a personal stream post to quiet some pain in my heart. Sorry about the lack of context. It requires no explanation.

Should you kill me, do it with a kiss, slip me the slow knife with your lips, if you have to wrap your hands around my neck, then do it with love, out of respect, listen closely to my labored breath, it’s not for you to steal with dreams unfulfilled, away you go, away I stay, watching the distance unabridged, water parted, skin, sensitive to your damage done, rolled away with the rolling eyes, in your voice a laughter uninformed, power muted, sleep stoned, but I know it is you who is clipped and I walk away clean though diminished, but only for now, a sand in free fall washed away clean in the stream. 

……….Should you ever find this message………….I am forever sorry I wasn’t able to love you the way you needed in your dark hours.……….I tried the best I could, but in the end I was overwhelmed by the nature of your torment and fear ruled me.……….I hope that one day you find the peace that you need in your heart.……….And when you do, this boy will be looking for you upon the horizon.……….

– Muted White Rabbit

Flightless Bird – 24

flightless bird

Forgive me if this post seems cryptic. My headspace is unclear as I try and source out what the universe is trying to tell me. For once, I’m caught in my own BOX. Perhaps it is best if I just stream my thoughts instead of making any cohesive sense of it all:

24 you haunt me as an hourglass breaking sand upon my eyes, you ask for sixth sense, balance, yet I tear at the seams and the scraggly edges are poking through from where I had them folded, give me a kiss on the the forehead to hush, give me some spite so at least I know you were not illusion bursting at me to believe, wild eyes, wild growl, stuck in me a spike on the loom where my heart dwells in dark places, it was the Lover asking me to gaze into your eyes, it was true, it was right and still is, but Time is sour and old and angry with me, he salts his hand and places it upon my chest and in his best interest tries to wither and break, I am unbreakable, I do not sour, but I’m misplaced, stuffed into a one buttoned bear stuffed in a dusty corner stuffed in an attic with no lamp or window to breathe free air, there to wait for when it is time to have my belly rubbed against her head and comfort her weeping heart…my flightless bird.

Crossing Streams

cross streams

It’s  been awhile since I’ve done a stream of consciousness post. So here goes for shits and giggles.

Blurb, blub, blubble and the brain goes burping out squiggles and random madness, unfiltered and far reaching. What is it rummaging back in the far recesses? raw noise, pure absurdity, giggling starbursts in a shouting match of black holes and double pulsars debating the merits of spaghettification. Stretchy silly putty brain goo touching the ethereal mysteries of the universe as a non-human, without bio externalities. What is this?! I don’t know and I don’t care. Meaning is meaningless and contradiction rules the day. Resolve that shit up in there! Simplifying complications is what turns the wheels behind the scenes, how to leave the mouth of madness and walk pure, unencumbered, unembroiled, still glass lake reflecting the angles I can’t always see and shining back crooked rays of the sun and showing me the world is always askew and never straight and narrow like we want it. The universal plane is messy like a bowl of overcooked chili plastered against the microwave wall. Smells great, looks uncouth. yep…gooey

– Stay Puft Rabbit