I’ve been wearing various dog like costumes all day, acting like there’s some secret to the life worth living through examination. People searching for the highest relevancy in everything, looking to sort life into appropriate categories, elevating that which they find best pierces the dull, dense, discovered, callously armored skin of reality. These means of passing time, digging in the excrement, rolling it around, like insects squabbling, climbing each other, following an invisible set of rules that make up the system, creating a chorus with time as our activities carve tracks in the dirt that defines the hive.

Sitting in prison, a number plugged into the ethernet port. Clock stuck. The whistle of the kettle like the cock crowing dawn. Layers of illusion, make it deeper with your new finds. Plug me into the gestalt that education reaches for. Those ivy league hands immersing us so that if we are lucky we may seep connected to its boundary pushing blade tip, soothing us within the cut by music that others have not the ears to hear but we the ears already calloused to the orgasm inducers of the others. Only the new will do for us, or at least the forgotten. We want to expand our brains. To feel life. Make us dig for it. Give us the juicy core. The center of the sandwich, away from the crust.       

We are not shallow. We are deep thinkers.

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