When I began writing Invisible Driving – www.invisibledriving.com - my goal was to put readers inside the experience of a manic episode. I knew this had never been attempted before and I wasn’t even sure it was possible. Had I understood how hard it would be, I might not have tried. Early on I realized that there had to be one chapter that penetrated the center of manic thought with all its blinding speed, uncontrolled creativity, euphoric excitement, and disjointed (at best) associations. The result was “Everything Is.” People assume it was written when I was manic, but it wasn’t. It took weeks to reconstruct what occurs in seconds when flying on a manic high. “Everything Is” first appeared in Exquisite Corpse. Here’s a bit more, buckle up.
 
The streetcars are broken, there’s sick transit on this glorious Monday. Ghengis Khan but Emmanual Kant. If I had it to do all over again, I’d do it all over you. My wife, give her an inch and she thinks she’s a ruler. A hard man is good to find. I never metaphor I didn’t like. You can lead a horticulture but you can’t make her think. Everyone has to believe something; I believe I’ll have another drink. No matter where you go, there you are. The place is getting so popular, nobody goes there anymore. I can’t go without Bea. I can’t believe her behind. If you laid all the Freshmen girls at Bryn Mawr College end to end - it wouldn’t surprise me at all. Parker, I hardly know her! There’s no end insight. There’s no big inning in sight either in this whole knew ballgame. Some of the snakes in India are so poor they don’t have a pot to hiss in. When asked what was good on the menu the sarcastic waiter replied, “What’s fair is fowl.” “Through which canal passes the most food, Holmes?” “Alimentary my dear Watson.” Celery stalks at midnight. Noses run in my family. The mentally ill comedian went sailing and was funny in the head. And now the weather, fair today, unfair tomorrow. The prostitutes and other prisoners were having their annual checkup, the doctor was weighing the pros and the cons. How about that new alternative to expensive brand-name scents, Eureka! - Cheap Perfume. I’ll see you - in-sane Luis. Fog at the shore is bellwether for all sheeps at sea. When French people visit big Ben it’s a froggy day in London town. Dracula was kicked out of college for having a bat attitude. A farmer in Idaho grew phallic shaped spuds and markets them as dictators. If you’ve gotta run, you need new stockings. Jewish people who observe rituals even though it pains them to do so are Seder-masochists. If there’s one thing I can’t stand - it’s sitting. Poverty, the one thing money can’t buy. When the writers at the Frick began to argue, you could almost feel the fiction. Slowly the mortician turned the coroner. I’m caught in the brain without an umbrella! He doesn’t have enough sense to come in out of the brain. The mean Marine was rotten to the corps. On the Main Line, outside Philadelphia, when the evening sun is just right, you can see the amber graves of Wayne. My mind has a mind of its own and yes - I do mind very much. But I don’t mind the store. I’m not saying I like it, mind you. Mind you don’t forget. My own thoughts are like a mind battlefield. A mind is a terrible thing to baste. I can’t turn this thing off. Lead us not into Penn Station but deliver us from beagles. Chaka Khan. Out the door he goes. Slam goes the screen. Rabazibby.