Maxi Taxis on the edge of reality.

Every time you open your eyes you bounce text off the back of your skull, and it sticks with the same kind of wet thumping noise that you get when you punch a week-dead baby. Then, once there's enough semi-cogitated sputum accumulated there; it all comes crashing down, real tower of babel shit, and you rake through the vomit with your fingertips extended like a web spider, searching for the chunks that have glued together coherently. This activated complex soup of thoughts and conceptual diatribe filled with polymerised dumplings of sense - Be sure to wash your hands after every meal.

Studying neurolinguistics with present human languages as a base is sort of like realigning a maser collimator with a sledgehammer - It's either on, or off. 1 or 0. No subdivisions. We are hampered like all fuck by the languages we speak. Cogito ergo sum, writing itself is stupid. Trying to explain it is even stupider. Which makes me writing how to explain why explaining writing is so stupid, stupid cubed. Which basically sums up the majority of human existence - Three dimensions of fucktardedness.

But it's the closest fucking thing we have to a true record of conciousness, as an EEG is nothing more then polygonal, hard-edged and neon coloured spaghetti, some kind of ridiculous raver bolognaise that's completely indecipherable as to what they're actually thinking about, only giving us the faintest of inklings as to which bit of their brain is doing the thinking and how hard they're thinking about it. We have qualitative, but not quantitative. It's the marquis test, not HPLC.

Don't beat yourself up over it - It's not your fault you were brought up in this environment. Just remember, though... It doesn't have to be like this... All we need to do is make sure we keep talking!