It began when I saw the moment of the universe. Which is to say, the transitional point from innocence to experience. God has a different notion of qualification from humans. He understands enough to perceive the boundary points.
It helped that I was talking to the Torah.

Of course, in another sense, all I was was participating in was a co-mingling of seperate universes - conversing with a different God.
It transpired that, in reality, I was both myself and the level beyond.

The Torah was always opposite and always different from previously.
He was the world, and I myself.…

In the rain. Naturally.
‘So I’m trying to write this poem, mate; and I’ve got it, I’ve got the lines – the sentiment. But There’s No Rhyme – and I want you to know that I’m capitalising that for effect. Help me out, man.’
“So – what’ve you even got?”
‘Look, it’s all here mate. Wait. Wait a second.
Look:
Architecture is what you are.
Music and dancing’s for when you’re there.
The paintings and the signs are for when you’re not there.
The written and remembered words
Are for when you’ll never be there.

'I think this swings both…

I imagine myself particularly; lying in bed, listening to abba and radiohead.
This one time, and probably resultantly a couple of subsequent times, I remember thinking about existence: how if you zoomed in, things were dispersed, and how if you zoomed out things were dense.
It wasn't very good at the time. Now it might still be bad, but it's grown. Now, things adhere more to gravity as you scale up, and things are only especially solid to us at our scale of perception. Understandably (the latter, perhaps even, predictably).

What we think - that is, generally, as a species,…

There's something about the style of play most composite with rapid fulfilment of the requirements of computer games which is inappropriate for real life.
I refer you here to the SPAR mentality of the title.
In particular, the associated in-game ability to reload a saved state leads to the most beneficient style of play (in particular, when getting 'ultimate endings') being one of long-shots, tactic-gaugers etc.

Essentially, sacrificial styles of play.

Sometimes, I think of indulgement in games as being somewhat childish; I associate, with both games and childhood, a state of hyper-developed ready-for-anything-ness. Except, in stories it's always brief,…

Startling Gabriella out of her semi-conscious reverie came a cry from the old woman.
'Oh no! My poor dear! What am I thinking of? You must be so hungry!'

Glad that the subject of food had come up, but somehow conscious of the fact that there would need to be more hot water for the washing up, Gabriella found herself filling the kettle from one of the large stone jugs at the side of the room and placing it over the fire. It was heavy, and very difficult to handle - both the jug and the kettle - sloshing about…

Found this.

NSFW content wise. Though, no images or popups or ostentatious adverts:

http://www.asstr.org/~Kristen/70/atthecabin.txt

Note the sub-perversion of the mother visualising her grandfather in what may or may not have happened.

There’s that weird sort of compulsion towards the totally illicit in the sexual imaginations of some. In a sense, amateur erotic fiction is a revealing of a very personal side of oneself. What makes it so personal, perhaps, is that it can so often be something which the imaginer(?) envisages as being at quite savage odds with their own personal apparent sexuality. A particular, and distinct, ‘masturbation sexuality’ seems,…

'Rebellion's limited to insurrection,
and that's totally cool - this is not an invection;
but what if you don't want to tear the edifice down,
but just build a new room, or build on the town?
Sign up with people, to end the metaphor;
I mean, to join them, not get your foot in the door.
Make them see change, and want it,
Just add a small bit, or highlight a flaw?
Well, you'll have to do away with your pride.'

<edit>

Changed my mind a little. Now it seems overblown and preachy without the music. I still like the…

"Is it much further from here?" Gabriella asked, her basket feeling heavy in her hand, and her confidence in the old woman's mental acuity greatly diminished. The sun was beginning to sag, and all she could say for certain had been achieved was the accumulation of a veritable mountain of mushrooms. Of these mushrooms, a sum total of three had been picked by Gabriella herself - these located, hard and yellow and scythed, too far up the bole of a tree for her still-unnamed guide to reach.

'Is what much further, dear?'

Restraining herself, out of politeness, from sighing with…

'Hello dear. Are you lost?'

Gabriella was pretty sure that this was the obligatory opening line of any old lady. Even Mother Muriel use to say it, with a wicked smile, whenever she ducked into the pub for a lunchtime drink. Coming now, however, it was welcome.

"Well, yes. I suppose I am. Do you know this area well?"

'Every inch, dear.'

"Well then, could you point me in the direction of The Hou- There's a large, two storey house somewhere down one of these paths. It can't be more than two hours away, but I seem to have forgotten…

Gabriella was walking through the woods to her uncle's house. It had been a long time since she'd last seen him, and she barely remembered the area. Worse, the trees had changed. The sapling she'd planted when she'd left would've grown, and now could be almost any of the trees lining the path.
The path forked, and the widened road let sunlight shine through, finally unobstructed by trees, to show the dark earth. And she was lost.

When she was younger, she'd navigated the woods through landmarks. With no head for the twist and turns and crossroads and forks of…