They were impulses from inside. The fragments of impacts outside. That was how thought began. Filtered through the unclosed gate of your consciousness. Where I found that I simply needed less of me. Bellowed through the highest pitch of the Heavy Resin song. Mashed with oats and whirlpooled with loads of Citra Incognito and Cryo. Double dry-hopped with charges of hand-selected Oregon Citra and Strata, New Zealand Nelson, and a final zap of Yakima Valley Citra Cryo.