The Peaches that Fell

Chapter 1

The Story The Authors

.....why the world goes round and round, and it will not stop; just because I like to wear mismatched shoes. Dave Cole

I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world. I am Buddha. All I want is a can of Spam Lite. A Rad Rocker

Russell shook his head, wondering, "Is it the smoke?" Songs playing through his mind, dissociative delusions that he was but a character in a story of which he himself were the author, barbaric yawps echoing down the corridors of his woe-begotten brain. "Or, is it memorex?" He smiled grimly, knowing full well what a poor joke his mind had offered up in the solitude. But he knew he wasn't especially creative, even if he was becoming insane. So quickly it was happening. He had known people, one day, seemingly perfectly normal, the next day racing up and a flight of stairs, refusing to get off at any floors because of the massive holes, the victim of an acute nervous breakdown. He had always assumed that their apparent normalcy was only an appearance; that he, in his generally unobservant way of going through life, just hadn't noticed whatever telling hints would have told him the friend or person was on the verge. But now, now, he wondered if they had, in fact, been just as typical as the next "normal," because he was sure he was quite normal the other day, and yet, clearly he no longer was normal, at least no longer normal in his mind. And yet, weren't people who knew they were insane actually sane? So, what was it? Far Dullerton

He glanced at the words floating through his mind and lazily picked through them. Clearly, he was sane, insane, creative, uninspired, chosen, hunted. He knew this to be a fact, and yet he had no proof. He had no proof of his insanity. He no telling facts, no supportive graphs, no supportive jock straps, nothing. Nothing to clue him in to anything anymore. Just a long line of apparently unconnected words that floated through his mind, dust motes in the quickly fading sunbeams of his so-called sanity. Bonnie

A knock sounded on the door. He opened up the closet and revealed,...nothing. Surprised, he went to the front door. Standing on his front stoop was his therepist, a smoke clenched between her teeth. "Russel, we've got to talk." she muttered, shouldering past him into the squalor. none

She stood fidgeting by the phone in the kitchen, shifting from foot to foot. "Does this thing work?" "Try it and see, Doc." She lifted the handpiece and put it to her ear. Russel eyed her cautiously, his hand reaching slowly toward the bulge in his belt. A tinny voice spoke from the phone, "Get out of there, knees rotten bun!" "Huh..." She began. But it was too late. From beneath his grimy undershirt Russel produced the one thing she feared most. Chet Peak

Once again, Russel was packing onions and dwelling in his closet. This was bad. It was a sign; a sign that he was slipping downward, toward an unseemly state she, and moreso, he, had worked, and worked hard, at overcoming. Worse, it was a skinned onion. And yet . . . and yet, the look in his eyes was not the dull, vacant elsewhereness that had so characterized them in the time before. "You're wondering, 'Why the onion?' aren't you?" "Now that you mention it, Russel, yes," she said, and something like hope danced in her heart. Clancy Dowd

I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world. I am Buddha. All I want is a can of Spam Lite. I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world. I am Buddha. All I want is a can of Spam Lite. A Rad Rocker

I am a man who thinks he is Dumbo the elephant. All I want is to fly. Dumbo

I am a man who thinks he is Dumbo the elephant. All I want is to fly. Someone else write something in Dr. Seuss I am a man who thinks he is Dumbo the elephant. All I want is to fly. Someone else write something in Dr. Seuss babe

I am a man who thinks he is Thor, the god of thunder, all I want to do is leave the mental institution.. LJZC

and go to the world of the potato people where the king tater rules. none

The king wears a brown coat which is drycleanable and has many pockets. Suzi

The Story	The Authors
.....why the world goes round and round, and it will not stop; just because I like to wear mismatched shoes.	Dave Cole
I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world. I am Buddha. All I want is a can of Spam Lite.	A Rad Rocker
Russell shook his head, wondering, "Is it the smoke?" Songs playing through his mind, dissociative delusions that he was but a character in a story of which he himself were the author, barbaric yawps echoing down the corridors of his woe-begotten brain. "Or, is it memorex?" He smiled grimly, knowing full well what a poor joke his mind had offered up in the solitude. But he knew he wasn't especially creative, even if he was becoming insane. So quickly it was happening. He had known people, one day, seemingly perfectly normal, the next day racing up and a flight of stairs, refusing to get off at any floors because of the massive holes, the victim of an acute nervous breakdown. He had always assumed that their apparent normalcy was only an appearance; that he, in his generally unobservant way of going through life, just hadn't noticed whatever telling hints would have told him the friend or person was on the verge. But now, now, he wondered if they had, in fact, been just as typical as the next "normal," because he was sure he was quite normal the other day, and yet, clearly he no longer was normal, at least no longer normal in his mind. And yet, weren't people who knew they were insane actually sane? So, what was it?	Far Dullerton
He glanced at the words floating through his mind and lazily picked through them. Clearly, he was sane, insane, creative, uninspired, chosen, hunted. He knew this to be a fact, and yet he had no proof. He had no proof of his insanity. He no telling facts, no supportive graphs, no supportive jock straps, nothing. Nothing to clue him in to anything anymore. Just a long line of apparently unconnected words that floated through his mind, dust motes in the quickly fading sunbeams of his so-called sanity.	Bonnie
A knock sounded on the door. He opened up the closet and revealed,...nothing. Surprised, he went to the front door. Standing on his front stoop was his therepist, a smoke clenched between her teeth. "Russel, we've got to talk." she muttered, shouldering past him into the squalor.	none
She stood fidgeting by the phone in the kitchen, shifting from foot to foot. "Does this thing work?" "Try it and see, Doc." She lifted the handpiece and put it to her ear. Russel eyed her cautiously, his hand reaching slowly toward the bulge in his belt. A tinny voice spoke from the phone, "Get out of there, knees rotten bun!" "Huh..." She began. But it was too late. From beneath his grimy undershirt Russel produced the one thing she feared most.	Chet Peak
Once again, Russel was packing onions and dwelling in his closet. This was bad. It was a sign; a sign that he was slipping downward, toward an unseemly state she, and moreso, he, had worked, and worked hard, at overcoming. Worse, it was a skinned onion. And yet . . . and yet, the look in his eyes was not the dull, vacant elsewhereness that had so characterized them in the time before. "You're wondering, 'Why the onion?' aren't you?" "Now that you mention it, Russel, yes," she said, and something like hope danced in her heart.	Clancy Dowd
I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world. I am Buddha. All I want is a can of Spam Lite. I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world. I am Buddha. All I want is a can of Spam Lite.	A Rad Rocker
I am a man who thinks he is Dumbo the elephant. All I want is to fly.	Dumbo
I am a man who thinks he is Dumbo the elephant. All I want is to fly. Someone else write something in Dr. Seuss I am a man who thinks he is Dumbo the elephant. All I want is to fly. Someone else write something in Dr. Seuss	babe
I am a man who thinks he is Thor, the god of thunder, all I want to do is leave the mental institution..	LJZC
and go to the world of the potato people where the king tater rules.	none
The king wears a brown coat which is drycleanable and has many pockets.	Suzi

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