It’s 9:11AM and I sit spewing forth the sayings of a mind, gray, a submissive gesture to the cloud cover perhaps, but more likely the natural pigment of such creatures, notwithstanding an extraction, I call upon science to lend it’s omnipotent ring of truth to thy assertion, lest the assenter suffer the pains of falsehood on it’s behalf.
Much of the world lives disconnected from the realities of human existence, I raise this point not in furtherance of my preferred brand of conjecture, but to warn those readers that live in such a state that the next few paragraphs may cause them significant pain and some loathing of this author, because they do not enforce the restrictions of any reality save my own.
Today at 10:40, I allow a man whose last name is rendered by tongue as the meat of a dear to probe my brain. Poking without purpose has two interpretations, mock copulation, or annihilation, thoughts of either concept cause some degree of unpleasantness, especially when one considers the deliverer of said poking. so I console myself in the knowledge that this poking comes with diagnostic intentions, it is friend not foe, it will determine and bring into light the extent of treason committed by my eyes and brain, and in so doing sway my determination of how much leniency to offer in their prosecution by therapy.
Time marches forth, soon i shall have to advance to the vicinity of one of the movable subsections of the exterior wall to meet the meat man and discover his findings, the idea makes me nervous, to know that organs I have trusted so faithfully until now have betrrayed me brings a degree of pain, for his diagnosis the meet man offers no comfort, I begin to know what Bill Clinton must have felt like, having his dirty laundry aired so publicly, though my quandry is more hazy than the definition of sexual intercourse; I must punish the traitor, yet as the supreme overlord of the body, it is my duty to keep internal maltters as matters of the republic, doth not their airing to the meat man represent a direct dereliction of duty, Am I too a traitor? Have I become a hypocrite to extents far in excess of those I seek to prosecute? Ah quandaries.