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Scrawl on the Wall 040
So Doctor Wimbly, we meet again. Time to dance our dance and jump around like maniacs to repetitive music.
I know that somewhere, in-between the beats, I can hear the secrets of life and the universe.
But I am distracted. My belt has broken and I have a horrible, ugly coffee stain on my Grateful Dead tie-dye t-shirt.
When did reality go all wrong?
It's like a note. A waning piece of badly composed and horribly played music.
And then, all of a sudden, patterns emerge. The mind pieces together the disparate pieces, and the symphony reveals itself.
Then there is confusion, chaos, and the listener must speculate and formulate an understanding of what they have heard.
And as they theorize and intellectualize, they alter the tactile nature of the experience and it is morphed into a form that exists in their minds alone.
The clay of reality has been molded and shaped to please a single individual and this happens to everyone upon every experience.
We are all the island. We are tiny gods.
And I am slowly becoming the new human being. One who has changed and evolved and will soon demand identity.
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