The Ishmael Gradsdovic Papers, part three


Part three of the Ishmael Gradsdovic papers is this enigmatic doodle sheet which was not given either a title or an explanation. The date was added in another color ink, so may have been put there some time after the rest of the text was written. I think I understand what's going on here...

From here on out, I'm going to replace people's names in the papers with initials followed by dashes, just to cover my ass.


August 5, 1988

Wow is this going to look strange later but I suppose I'll have to be the judge of that then won't I? (Word?->) "God" I'm really fucked up, and... if I weren't so attached to reality I'd kind of like it here

You see, if I get to the point where I don't know whether I'm going through this or not, then I probably am!

Things are going much too fast it is clear

If you understood the way I see you, you probably wouldn't let me be here.

Whenever I feel like what I may be thinking of throwing up, I remember that it really wasn't there to begin with

Tendons in my hands (especially thumbs, especially right thumb cause thats what I'm writing with

Where was I that I alloowed myself to come out this far. I'm SO WAAAAAAAAY OUT I'm like this

Lest you ever be tempted to think otreywise this stuff really works

I'm never really sure If I have to piss or not so I have to go in the bathroom and check from time to time. Leave the seat down next time.

It's a little aggrivating to have the floor (carpet) mixiiing with my stomach and intestines and all and me having to pick up now & again to make sure the border is still there

I often wonder why all the other people in the room aren't freaking out at the same things that I am.

Punchlines often seem so far removed from their jokes

Places are very different when "going to" them as opposed to "Coming from" them.

Anyone who wants to be is an instant authority

I've got to piss every three minutes

Puss in boots syndrome (feet carpet)
Muscular tension in forearms
Very very fucking distracting
Shadows won't keep Still
Walls have a pulse with cappillaries
Limbs (or portions thereof) moving (in head)
and when you try to correct for supposed motion you fuck up even worse
venetian blinds in waves in already filled dimensions (no vacancy)
if you don't keep track of what is
part of what the pieces float apart
drips between dunes (sand in the wind
over the tops)

The ceiling is back now, I missed its absence meaning I wish it was gone again into the fog from whence it cemps. Everyone seems aware of my perceptions -- embarassing when I try to put somebodys body back together and end up staring at them you've heard of waterbeds, right? Imagine the whole world's a waterbed.

It's strange when youre in a differen't color and its moving away from yourself.

These really aren't my lips my face doesnt do this when I'm normally in a mirror. Nothing slow about it

Eye'm crying alot and B---- keeps playing with her face.

The world is flattened in my direction

Much Later: What I think doesn't really matter even farts have soome sort of (in)significance as they interact between you (me) and else.

I feel as if I should set men to paper out of some sort of duty I might at one time have felt toward the ( ) I was before I dropped (was it the whole damn thing) a hit of acid. But I don't know of which I should be writing (although I know the folly of an additional "of")

Will I ever be able to look at anything or anyone ever again without feeling "Really, now, what's the point?"

What the hell was the point to sex anyway. It's all a matter (on a purely selfish frame) stimulating one portion of our bodies until ... something. But now everything head to toe is ... something, so why Bother?

I don't know if I'm cold or if I'm hungry or if I need to piss.

I am invulnerable to cold because I can no longer sense it, but this makes my shell/body more vulnerable to cold because I haven't the "sense" to protect it.

I cannot/must recommend this sort of thing to everyone.

It's 4:30 AM, america, do you know wheres your heads at.




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