Notes for critical analysts:

The average reading speed of (none average) human being is 250 words per minute. Find out yours here: http://mindbluff.com/askread.htm

The typing speed of the author is NOT 381 words per minute. Here is proof:

Say: “They are sleeping. They are always sleeping.” Think: Rethink. Outthink. Think critical. Think lateral. Think group. Forethink. Think outrageous. Think free. Think the unthinkable. Unthink. Don’t think. Give up the idea of thinking. Ting Tong! No don’t think so hard. Think hard. Think long. Think big. Think dirty.
Think Goa. Think long dirty streets lined by people going and coming, on speed. Think of their shirts that are possessed by light itself. Think of their faces that are possessed by life itself. You have always been in Goa. For a lighttime. Go-ah! All your friends are in Goa. Goa is full of your friends. Goa is where you go to show that you have friends… probably because of the whole goa “is where you go to show that you have friends” fad in the movies, but the movies went to goa to show that they had friends. So everybody is in Goa, everybody is a friend, and everybody feels the whole thing is like the movies. You have just been there, and reality has already began to fade.
So what are you doing in Goa? You are walking on the streets, lost, and heading towards the sea that is calling you. The legs of the men and women wander around up and down the streets in what looks like a random imaginary pendulum. While their necks are attached to heads that are designed for some heavy duty pan directional wondering. Everyone basically looks at you once, and greets you with a very cordial absolute lack of reply… its very polite and reassuring you know… its like ‘I swear to mind my own business, in return of which you swear to mind yours’. That is all that you need you know, so you comply, and you do not greet anyone either. And you walk right ahead, to where you were going, to the sea. You are done with the thinking. You think you want a smoke. So you reach out in your pocket for one.
Just one left. Ah well. You look in your pocket for matches. Some understanding hand reaches out and lights up your cigarette without you even asking. You like Goa for things like this. You nod at the guy with the dragon lighter, and turn back to face the sea. There you go. You take a drag. Leave it out, slowly, smoothly, a wisp of smoke, a flash of light, there is rain, the flash of light goes, the wisp of smoke dissolves, and you wonder what just happened. Oh fuck! You just got premonited!
Oh man, you run, run like you have never ran before, onto the beach, and you run to a circle of your friends, and you come to a stop suddenly, and you look up, and you wave your hands. And you say “Guys, I have something important to tell you”. But they do not listen to you. They are busy talking about trivial things. They are telling each other light bulb jokes. One of them asks, “How many feminists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” and amazingly enough, everyone has their own versions of the joke. One friend, dreamily looking at the sky, lost and not interested in the joke session goes “Two. One to change the bulb, and one to write about how it felt.” Another friend, deliberately wanting to outfunny the asker has goes “One to screw it in, and two to talk about the sexual implications.” But it’s cheap, so everyone is polite enough not to laugh, and turn their attention to the next friend to be rude enough to deny the asker his reply “One to change the bulb, and three to write about how the bulb is exploiting the socket.” But that, somehow, manages to be cheap too, so he does not even manage to outfunny his friend, no everyone is looking for a good answer, a better answer, and then one guy who is actually looking at you goes “One to change the bulb, and two to secretly wish they were the socket.” Ooh, that was a layered cheap statement that was, that friend was actually being promiscuous while joking, that wasn’t cheap, that was understandable. But everyone else in the friend circle didn’t get that… so, everyone looked for an answer, and finally laughter thundered. Some guy just went “One to change the lightbulb, and one to kick the balls of any man who even tries to volunteer his help.”
Touché man. That was layered, cheap and somewhat funny because of the build up. That friend got a thunder of laugher as his reply, and he rained his smiles on everyone. And you wave your hands to stop them, you hands to the sky as if casting a spell, and the thunder of the laughter is intermingled with real thunder. That thunder that is secreted by the blanket of the night, and your friends turn to you, shocked. One of them asks “was that real thunder”. You are as shocked and have realized as much as they have. You seriously have no idea of what is going to happen next.
You don’t bother to explain the thunder. You go right ahead, expecting them to overlook it. There are more important things to be told. “Listen, if you had one minute to save the whole world, would you?”
So this is where it begins, you think. “You have one minute to save the world. Anyone who is willing to die to save the world, please raise up your hands. And your friends are shocked out of their wits. They do not know how to respond. They do not know what to say to you. They are thinking of ridiculing you. You decide to stop them short in their thought processes. “Ok, forget that, you have 54.5 seconds to decide which one you is prepared to die for me.” Nothing. People are silent. People do not react. They are asking you questions. Bombarding you with them. You pay no attention to them. You do not understand them. You are busy thinking something else. You are thinking you are telling them something important. One of them needs to die to keep you alive. And none of them are raising their hands. No, not one. The time is passing, it is going by, it is going by too fast. It is accelerating. More people are coming to you. More of your friends gather around you. There is a large gathering around you, wondering what you are saying, but not one of them is reacting fast enough. You look around, you see people and recognize faces, you feel like your orkut friend list is for once lively, and together, and around you, and real. None of them understanding a single thing you have said so far. But one hand goes up. Something in its brain just clicked. You look at the creature, and you say “hello, thank you. I knew it was you. I am never going to let you die for me. Remember that. Please, no one really needs to die for anybody. Its all just a figment of somebody else’s control. God is looking over all of us, and we are but his blood cells briefly meeting in our long journeys. We are important to him as a whole. But he cannot really take care of each one of us can he? Sometimes when we have supplied enough energy to God, we die out. We are left empty, and we are waste, and we are recycled, within the body itself, to create new blood cells. We are not friends man, we are blood. I love you. But I need to die for you.” You pause to get a peek at your digital watch. The one minute is up.”
And you raise your hands, waiting for the lightning that the thunder heralded to strike. It was a minute to your gesture of pretended magic that the skies had forged a lightning bolt. And it is that instant, that the throng around you chooses to react. In that instant when the lightning had already left the skies and came searching for ground. In that instant, a unit not even measurable by the natural brain, but a unit of time within which the natural brain chose to react anyway, the natural brains of your friends reacts, they all come forward, they all look at you, and understand you, and they raise their hands too, they are all prepared to die for you, and you look into their eyes, and they look into your eyes, and that is when you are no longer ashamed to admit that you are scared of what is going to happen, admit that you were aware of the lightning, aware that it was going to come down ever since the thunder happened, aware that it would send a lightning, straight at your head, aware that it was going to kill you, but what you were fucking not aware, was that all your friends would raise their hands to save you, and that’s when you show in your eyes to your friends to show what is in your eyes, and they see fear, and fear that bitch she is, spread out evenly amongst all friends, and everyone is blinded by their own fear, and everyone is aware in that blindness, of the blindness that is going to strike everyone, which is the lightning bolt finally reaching earth.
And their heads explode in the lightning bolt, an explosion of light, it reaches down, forming a cone over everyone’s heads, all your friends are reaching out to it, attracted towards it, and it is the lightning that strikes everyone at once and everyone collapses. They have been shocked out of their minds. They can no longer bear the electricity in their brains. It is causing a ringing in the ears. Their hearts skips a beat. They collapse. They pass out.
And you are on the ground too, thankful, that you are alive, thankful that your friends all chose to die for you, and that saved everyone – everyone shared the piece of the lightning, and everyone decided to bear it, and everyone managed to come up with an idea, unconsciously of course, of bearing the brunt of the lightning together. And everyone would survive this. You knew it. There was always another thing to wake up to. It was a thing that was hopeful. Although you would have a lot of explaining to do in the morning, waking up to a new sunrise was precisely the sort of thing that mankind needed to do… it was a primordial necessity. It was necessary to wake up… always wake up, always realize a new world around you, yes, there was no passing out and bullshit like that. Everyone would wake up. All your friends. The lightning hadn’t killed even one of them. It had just hit their heads. A hit that was supposed to be headed towards you. You thanked God that they existed. You were terribly grateful. You felt like you needed to do something to lighten up the mood – you needed it yourself, there would be a lot of explaining to do in the morning.
And then, just before you passed out, you see the skies twinkling with stars, stars that fall towards the earth, not made of fire, but made of water, long streams of it, with the thunder heralds the lightning which heralds the rain Hey! That’s not in order! But who cares, it is raining. Its water right here, nature apologized to you for not letting you go to the ocean. Nature picked up the ocean itself and brought it to you, and showered it on you, in a sweet sprinkling drizzle, that turned into a fresh, cold shower of water. Water that nature had purified on the way. Yes rain was what you needed. Rain was sweet. Rain was beautiful. Rain was understanding. Rain was comforting. Rain was always refreshing. Rain that didn’t even extinguish your light. You take another drag. You let out smoke strings in the rain, and you are content, and you pass out.
And you begin to think. Think. Clear up the clutter in your mind and think. Think again. Think for a sec. Think what you were saying. Say: “So what was I saying?”