Ouroboros
Sometimes I hate the internets fucking guts. It feels like its some dreadful grand inquisitor. Giving us everything we could ever want or need. Maybe its just evolution. I mean, we crawled outta the ocean and the forests to create this quasi fake temperature controlled reality, maybe cyberspace has just become the new outer reaches of inner space. A place where mystery can be slaughtered by the endless singular satiation of whatever whimsy.
My dreams have also started happening in cyber-space. Last night I video chatted with my dead father. He told me that he’d both won and lost the last game of hid-n-seek he ever played. And before I could figure out what he meant I was video chatting with a beautiful woman and she began to dance and gyrate wildly to the Air Supply’s song, “Making Love Outta Nothing at All” she revealed to me her perfect body but didn’t stop there. No, soon she tears off her hair, face, and skin. Its me again. I’m the dancer. My first urge is to yell at girl/me for freaking me out but then I realize I’m only yelling at myself and freaking us both out. So confused I go to bed. My wife is already sleeping. But once again the other person, my wife, is me and then I, me, she crawls on top of we and begin to kiss. Do I stop myself? I’m about to get laid.
So weirder we must go. Into the cyber space my friends! No one will know anything but we’ll have all the answers. And perhaps we can peer through the veil of time and have cybersex with our eternal self.
Just don’t forget to enjoy this reality while you can. In fact, next time you’re down at the convenience store please take a moment to gaze upon the hotdog roller in all its mystery. Listen to how it rolls while its sings. And while none of us shall ever come close to comprehending this devil magic what we do know is the only way off the rollers is to be devoured. To be devoured with mustard and relish.
we burp mystery and shit the dream
a life devoured
time for ice cream.
