Formula

There is a monster formula who's mission is to shut down everything. Formula wants to stop time and box everything in his wearhouse. We, the rebels, are trying to escape his grasp, his all powerful frosty clutches.

Formula feeds off consciousness. He gets in side peoples minds, and builds wearhouse around whatever he finds in there. Reality, as we know it is being shut down to a total absent nothing. Not even death, as death is too wild and uncontrollable for formula. Formula wants things in his box.

We are running to escape. The more things formula encloses in his boxes the more powerful he becomes. You have to be careful when he is watching you, as anything you think about, he can then enclose. You have to play dumb much of the time.

The rebels are formulas biggest threat. They and only they have the secret of death which is the only escape from a life lived endlessly in formulas wearhouse. The rebels know formulas plan as they were the guardians of the ancient histories. It was written in the past, as this is not the first time formula has tried to do this.

I can feel formulas mind focused on us. There are only a small bunch of us left, still with the awareness of the wild and the uncontrollable. All these metal sheeting walls are popping up all among us, as we desperately try not to think too much. Thinking will not help us escape this one.

But with in a little while all seems lost as the final chink of sunlight is closed out from us forever. We are boxed in within formulas wearhouse.

All is lost. I have a special button however. The reset button. No one really knows what happens when you press it. I am told by my rebel friends that pressing it will destroy my life. It will shut me down, and what I will experience beyond that I won't know.

It feels like, stuck up here in the wearhouse my life has already died.

I decide to press the reset button.

I collapse. But I don't loose all awareness. I am still breathing. My memory has been erased, I can not talk, but my eyes are still open. The rebels are watching me with care. I can here them talking to me but I can't answer them.

Teachers

I am reading a book by S H b and I have just picked it up. It has these pages in it which analyse SB talking about bridge but interestingly these have all been transformed by the fire into a goblin like face. I am also getting my own writing done by climbing into a strange nest above the road. I am in America somewhere busy and there is this hair dressing place and I climb into it. There is the drank about Phil t and I visit cycle through nl edge and there is broken glass on the road and I get flat bike tyres and I am disappointed but then I hear a piano price Morton Feldman. I know it must be Phil. I call round. He has lots of pretty girls round at his.