Strea.

Strea

The only stream of consiousness i know is the spirit of garbage world.  The war zone multi piled into future suns and moons spinning backwards not forwards change it with the way you burn the candle.  Candle born.  Born with the glasses.
Easier to do when you are free.
There are pit kiffs made of jam over there shepherds made of wool.  Here is arizona, cool pump the gas the giant bellowing gas,

Hey there heres a soldier
standing upright erect
an electricutioner
furry hat move like a mickey taking
the micheal
bumble bee cyclone
wizard to the tiger lilly
diagonal trails of butter
blipping flying butter
hot tea sips
open door
football people n cool air
breezes in and out
nutmegs
a
clean static true picture
a one legged weather man
squeezing a horn
attatched to a wheelchair
as sirens sound
even more to be found
in the whisky bar
where nearly everyone
drinks pints instead of whisky
blink and you
you
you
love the spirits in the glass
the bottle
yo ho ho
and a factory
distillery
convereyor belting
factory
pallet trucking joy ride
dough nuts
good hot n sugar dipped
on the inside is a wheel chair
a juke box
and a
jack appleby
glass
made for drinking