Is that the point?
I want to explode in one thousand different ways into different organisms and mindstates/colors, the flavors of artificially colored high fructose corn syrup, buying groceries on an astral plane, neck and neck with stasis. Is there anything more boring maybe not. People regress to the mean and the only thing worth doing is solipsism, not socialism. There is no such thing as a transcendental humanist.
Living in a hippie commune in a bubble-wrapped timewarp where everyone is a teenager in love. Truth ends at age twenty-two, fear begins. How to fight/how to fall. In public and in private.
(Ambiguous stimuli.)
Leave the rest for the dust mites.
