The carousel of experience continues at a dizzying pace but all the while I wish for the silence of a moonless night. I can hear little teeth chattering across the floor. Chitter chatter chitter chatter.
What is being? Where is the anchor of meaning? I’m a desperate pilgrim on a journey too vast to comprehend. All I can think about is the hill directly ahead.
There’s only me. No one is likely to get inside the laugh box again. I’m too skewed from center to be reconciled, it seems. I think I have pretty much come to accept this. Almost two years now and no more desperate than when it started.
Flattering the obelisk only has so many permutations. So shiny and hieroglyphics so nice. But what else can you say? Someone else comes along and it all sounds so fresh and real. I don’t know what it is; it’s simply ear candy. Something missed.