"I will safely and without danger, travel on the Astro-Plane."
-"8-"

A bead of sweat rolls down my temple clearing a path through the sheen before falling; adding its totality and becoming one with the human stew below. (I remember I tore a hole in the knee of my Levi 501's.)

-"(Clear.)... (Clear.)."

"I need to pick up a new pair... (-Need to pick up a new pair.)... (New pair.)"

-"7-"-

"There are salted caramel, Macadamia Turtle clusters in the kitchen cupboard... (There are salted caramel, Macadamia turtles in the cupboard.)... (Turtle clusters in the)-

-"6-"

"Mmm, those taste good. Not too salty, not too sweet... (Not too salty, not to sweet.)... (I could go for three.)...";
"(Go for five-)"-

-"5-"

Needless to stay...
I scared the Seuss's son out of the cat when I projected into the house on the Astro-Plane. I guess cats 'ARE' straddling the fence between reality and the Astro-Plane. Who knew... Well, I guess I did. Just not for sure/empirically-obviously- until now. Married girl would have been so jealous right then.

So, basically, if you hadn't done the longhand math and carried the five, It turns out the turtle clusters in the kitchen cupboard were just the right motivation and key to my skirting the veil; the proverbial carrots leading me to project after their 'not too salty, not too sweet' goodness via a mucus-like, viscous, immaterial medium that left no trace, but allowed me to freely pass through and about the world of material substance omni-spatially .

The turtle clusters in the kitchen cupboard and the turtle clusters in the kitchen cupboard alone were the instruments of my ultimate freedom. Not a pretty girl, not floating on the outskirts of the atmosphere where only the likes of Chuck Yeager and his cronies dared go, but salted caramel, milk chocolate covered, macadamia turtle clusters.

My hypothesis is something about the fact macadamias are so well balanced with chocolate and caramel-maybe even the fact they are also referred to as a 'turtle cluster'- that even their very notion as a reality upon this earth is somehow so perfect that they-and even their very notion- somehow form a conduit- also so perfect; perhaps 'Seuss-gifted'- or a 'catalyst' if you will, that can't help but naturally actualize and allow for the literal bridging of the gap between here and the aether. 

(The copious amount of 'hot,' Hot tub water as a conduit in the 'Hot,' Hot tub notwithstanding.)

It didn't hurt that my spirit also had a good piss out on the lawn, toweled off, got dressed and even

closed up the hot tub with a relative amount of ease before projecting into the house. Or maybe I was awake for that, I still can't be sure, I only really recall the balanced mouth joy as a result of the turtle clusters; and scaring the cat of course.
Though that doesn't really explain the mucus-like, viscous, immaterial medium that left no trace but allowed me to freely pass through and about the world of material substance omni-spatially.
Oh well. I suppose that's neither here nor there... quite literally, in fact.

Anyway, I know it's still early in my Astro-Training yet, but I think I'm already ready to cross state lines and creep on Grandma for my next journey.
Hell, maybe I'll even mow the lawn. I bet Astro-Projecting onto a riding Troy-Bilt to mow a half acre of lawn-in the dead of night-has to be the figurative cat's ass.

I won't empty the bag though. You can't expect a Ghost to do 'everything.'

They aren't 'that' polite.

Boy I can almost imagine what the mucus-like, viscous, immaterial

medium that leaves behind no trace but allows me to freely pass through and about the world of the material substance omni-spatially probably feels like glazing across my Astro-Skin as I level the yard at high speed-for a Troy Bilt- oblique angles.

Which reminds me, she keeps gingersnaps in the pantry. I'm gonna have to open a bag of them, so when she goes in there for some Bush's baked beans or some such, Seuss's ghost will really be confused out of her. What's more, she knows I'm the only one that eats those. She'll probably throw them out thinking they are stale since its been like a year since I was there. Then I can go back, retrieve them from the trash and put them back in the pantry.

Don't worry though, it's not like I'm gonna tell her I Astro-Crept on her. It's so much more entertaining to have the people you hunt- 'haunt' think they're being officially hunted- 'haunted'. I imagine anyway... to be clear.

She's also not really 'New Agey' enough to have bundled sage clumps in her home and like- 'smudge ward' me off. So, I should be able to get away with it for at least a few weeks. And really, have you ever actually tried to explain new age concepts and magic to old folk?
Good luck.

Anything that contradicts Christ magic is imaginary and hence blasphemous.

Did you see that movie called 'Little Monsters' where adolescent Fred Savage could travel to the monster realm by climbing under any bed with legs and from there could pop up from under anyone else's, providing it was night time? I loved how he abused that power to break into the asshole school bully's house (Buzz McCallister from 'Home Alone,' but with baby fat) and along with the monster Maurice (played by Howie Mandel) sabotaged his lunch by substituting wet cat food for the tuna fish on his sandwich and by drinking his apple juice and refilling the bottle with piss.

Oh, I felt so vindicated when Buzz drank it at school the next day and spit it-and the cat food- all over the principal. But after future viewings, I began to find it quite unbelievable Buzz somehow 'KNEW' it was piss after only just a sip of the 'juice' had made it past his lips. Obviously he would know something wasn't quite right-as far as apple juice is concerned- or maybe that it was a little 'overly' ripe, but to 'immediately' conclude and spout it was piss? It just came off a little too much like pandering for a laugh.

Nobody has so refined a palate as to taste monster piss amidst a mouthful of wet cat food. Let alone little eight year old Buzz McCallister. Besides, wouldn't you need whatcha call 'time' to like- smell, swish and spit said piss in question -the way so many wines are thusly tested- for a positive identification? What if it 'had' just been a classic case of overly ripe Tree Top, and not monster piss? That's a hell of a public outburst to have to try and explain and save face over.
"Sorry folks... for a second there I thought... I thought it was 'monster piss,' I had almost consumed. It's cool- Rest assured, Just overly ripe. Go on about your day. I'll just clean all this up. (Excuse me can I use that napkin? These brown paper towels don't really absorb as much as they really just move things around.")

I don't know if it's a 'jump the shark' moment for me, so much as the part when the kids 'tote' car batteries down into the monster realm to power light vests they have made was, (Do you know how heavy car batteries are? As an adult I have to make an effort to walk one or two minutes at a time with them let alone any kind of great distances) But it more or less broke my ties with the suspension of disbelief, regardless the ...'kind hearted' fun.

If anything, Buzz should have been able to smell the pungent odor of monster urea as soon as he popped the bottle's top. I don't imagine monsters having a penchant for properly hydrating; specifically noting 

the steady, apparent diet of burgers and pizza they had on the long craft services table down in the monster realm. So, by my mind, the 'juice' would have at the very least needed to have appeared overly dark or almost brown in hue-should it be assumed a monster's renal system filters and expels the same or similar chemicals and waste a human's does.

However, taking into account 'Monsters' and their-by definition- proclivity for sexual deviancy, serving as an indication of wildly fluctuating hormone levels and appalling-probably under hydrated-sexual appetite, Seuss also knows a monster's endocrine system being different than a human's in that regard may also mean the same for its kidney function.

Regardless, the whole thing still... stank of mediocre shenanigans being afoot; clarity of said monster piss as a substitution for apple juice notwithstanding.

What's even worse was when they showed it on TV and cut the whole sequence together, they never showed the bottle when Maurice was done filling it. So it didn't even make a lot of sense when Buzz was spitting it out. And when he yelled "It's piss," they changed what he said to... Oh, I don't even remember. Something dubbed dumb. Though I've always thought the people that think up the replacement dialog must get paid very well. I couldn't think up the nonsense they seemingly pull from the thin air. It's usually so dumb you have to applaud them in their brilliance.

I just remember my grandfather shaking his head as we watched it and saying: "That's not what he said. He said: "It's piss!"." He may have also been subtly warning me with that disapproving shake of his head if ever I was somehow of the ability and for some reason decided to like- somehow, dare I say 'creep' on his house -metaphysically or otherwise-and pull such a shenanigan, I might be in for a world of adverse hurt. (As if there were any other kind.)

Anyway, I think spiritually eating the ginger snaps and mowing the lawn might have to suffice as far as shenanigans goes. Not that I would have a reason to change out my grandfather's apple juice, were he to somehow have glass bottles of apple juice in this day an' age,

but it's amusing to think about, for nostalgia's sake. Though if I did project back to Jen's Party of Five days, those glass bottles might still be there.
Hey do you think when I eat the ginger snaps they'll pass through my metaphysical essence/being as I eat them, you know, the way the food Slimer ate in the movie 'Ghostbusters' did?
Probably on par with trying to get away with the 'juice' gag amidst all the security measures found on drinks now. Who would have guessed a movie and Terrorists could change the world? Oh to go back to before the West knew of Astro-Projection or dreamt of things under the bed bent on revenge.
Well, here's where I 'try' to tie things up. I end letters about as well as meeting married girls on the Astro Plane. If you happen to do so and your intention is me, but my essence is all... Astro-Clined and in Astro-R.E.M., please don't wake me. Just leave like... an Astro-Note before skirting back through the veil to your earthly-caged, corporeal body. 

(Hopefully it isn't as long as this one. My eighties essence typically has school in the morning and can't spend 'too' much time crashed out, lest he leave a 'juice' stain on the earth bound, corporeal sheets. No thanks.)

'Hot,' Hot tub, Astro-regards,
Brian

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CHANNILLO

Brian's Seventh letter to Bianca (The Astro-Projection letter.) (3)
Series Info | Table of Contents

 "I will safely and without danger, travel on the Astro-Plane."
-"8-"

A bead of sweat rolls down my temple clearing a path through the sheen before falling; adding its totality and becoming one with the human stew below. (I remember I tore a hole in the knee of my Levi 501's.)

-"(Clear.)... (Clear.)."

"I need to pick up a new pair... (-Need to pick up a new pair.)... (New pair.)"

-"7-"-

"There are salted caramel, Macadamia Turtle clusters in the kitchen cupboard... (There are salted caramel, Macadamia turtles in the cupboard.)... (Turtle clusters in the)-

-"6-"

&quo...

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