Aaron Schmidt, Enghien les Bains, 2002 Aaron Schmidt, New York, 1998 Aaron Schmidt, Paris, 2002 Aaron Schmidt, Atlanta, 2001 Aaron Schmidt, Atlanta, 2001 Aaron Schmidt, Epinay sur Seine, 2003 Aaron Schmidt, Enghien les Bains, 2002 Aaron Schmidt, Sancerre, 2002

Thoughts and Dreams of Aaron Schmidt

This is the online journal of Aaron Schmidt where he records his thoughts (when they seem relevant) and his dreams (when he can remember them).

18 November 2002 Jinny's kids!

> aSa ---

When I was young I was born to breed! Pop 'em out like an apple tree. Keep 'em clean for all to see and seal 'em tight against the seems. So you have to ask yourself, do you know what I mean?

And now they're all coming back, pounding on my door like I was the Christmas turkey baking for Tuesday. A clown on display with a firecracker in both cheeks. A bird on parade. Que va!

There's something about silence that makes me sick ... A tiny tingle in my left ear informs me of the next plot against my train. They've tried to take it for years and I blow out the tires and stall the engine. Going NOWHERE! I scream at them.

Do you know what I mean?

> jK ---

I think I do know what you mean - see me and Mr. Clean set to find the golden bean - but something changed - the knowledge gleaned from centuries of earth and steam - was wasted waning waxing weaned on mothers milk and afro sheen.

I spoke about a hidden cache of monkey meat and balderdash - baloney common processed packed the children tie them up in sacks and feed them to the birds and bats and smear them on their faces fat with Christmas morning's pressure cooker aims their site on TJ Hooker looking more like Captain Kirk than LA cops hell bent to work the streets are seething pimps and bitches colored up with lime green stitches pleased to bring the turkey back to back we are all a part of something larger all a part of something.

> aSa ---

I noticed your exhibit has a flaw, a fatal bug strapped to the wall and here you are throwing dirt in my face, like some freaky ass alien from Russian space.

I was thinking, thinking, thinking of this and that and about how we could do this online and keep the chat. A split off freeangle from out of left field, like a tiny baseball woven in steel.

16 September 2002 Dreaming of life

They caught me
Spinning around, tying her down, holding her loud
And I want
just to be lean
A fast, iron machine
With nothing for tires and sticks for steam

You see
it's all coming back to me
The way they prayed for me
inside
A silent stream of energy
Pumping out my ride

My back is sore from corporate whores
Who taste me as I am
But I am not full of wind
Full of hate
Full of sin
But I am not full of them
When I'm working late at night

But I am not full of them
When I'm dreaming of my life.

21 August 2002 Pick until pop

Now it's time to party like the quebecers do.
/me blows a champagne!

Oh shit on the crow coppers have pushed me against the box and my feet are lifted away from carpet. Surprise! It's time for arrest and prison. You will bring your glad happy whore to me. I know I am enjoyed to him, the shortest model of the afro circus. I am unable to do the shutdown, the timely tweak that grows in spite of morning burn. They say it helps me but I, of the scissors, does not think them has mouths and of this fact, the song is useless.

Your new lapdog has the air of impressive, with horns of steel and a large view tank to pretty up shop of photos. I am of the wish list to open your locks and take from you a neat package ball tied round. Let the balls ride!

Smiles stretch hard my face when the Leslie pops of one mind. She is of not order to be lossed and sound her again for me hard against the temple like refreshing and candy. I hope I of you do not occupy or swade like me of her.

I have memory lost your question of apes but must spit out free. Try the auto bus 219 with flare scones and a gastank popping fresh. Splash gas upwards in the heavens. Bring hard down angels with scab chariot.

Pick until pop.

The monkeys attached firmly under my bed using a brush to teeth and the pear leaves found by me in the back grasses of the older Burnstein, the man horrifying known of the ghost.

Swing high and pass away!

Garganoth.
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