A soldier asleep in Vietnam during the War is shot in his brain while sleeping. The text follows his thoughts as the brain dies.
Excerpt
Masking nothingness in fleshy illusion angers me. My heart beats faster. I wish myself harm, disintegration. My calloused fingers and torpid lungs are reality. They swell like a bloated corpse, blue and gaping, and become my universe. What do they tell me? They don't protect me from my dreams. I see a mist; it grows out of my sluggish blood, the chalky residue of chemical waste and excrement splashing against the nuclei of my brain cells. I sink into and out of that mist. Neither darkness nor light nor weight nor cunning possess me. Mark me well, I say to myself. Mark me well, sound my depths, here, here, you mad fool,'is reality. And that word like lightning in my brain angers me and my fluid madness grows. Sounds appear, music to me yet I know it's music only to me. Music as harmonic juxtapositions, neither melodic nor soothing nor glorious.
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
A way to use your mind for silent communication. Speaking about the methods in the book I have used since a young age.
21st Century learning. I also have a GoFundMe page to ask for funds so I can research with other people and add their experiences
