Everyone has a room to cower in. A room where you control the thermostat. An eternal room of comfy claustrophobia, a room infinite in time, but finite in space. A dimly-lit room with a hardwood floor and a Persian rug, and a window to the wintry world outside where you can watch snow fall and animals freeze and die, and enjoy the view. It’s amazing what you notice when you allow yourself to look. A room of complete temporal dilation and fruition of cross-section NOW consciousness, a room of bright colors for large pupils.
I'm gonna shake hands with God, and incorporate myself into its climate-controlled gestalt, a cool blue shimmering heavy jelly, off the scale of the Geiger counter, beckoning at me to join the roiling tumorous mass.
Or, I’m gonna get my ass kicked – bitch-slapped – bubble-burst – innocence shattered – citizenship of TINA utopia (there is no alternative) revoked, and all the rest. The best-of-all-possible-worlds will become just another electron in the cloud of probability, a Schrodinger’s cat, haunting the flimsy certainty of reality. And we will be seen for the trivializers we are, and subsequently submit to the shrill and stoic cry that LIFE IS SERIOUS, and turn flat faces up to the rain, and purify ourselves of pretensions, and choose an ideology to live by because we have to make a choice, just because we can’t be like the ass, standing in front of the haystacks, starving because we don’t know which to choose – and this is somehow purpose, because we say so, just because – cause A is A, and everything follows from that, okay? Dig?