Dumb, Insane

[Chris Duers]

The incredibly dumb and insane planet spun, crazily, around and around, over and over and over again ad infinitum, and every time it turned, the contents of millions of boxes of all different kinds of cereal in pantries and cupboards all over the world, shooshed to the top, then to the sides, then to the bottom, then back into the top again with each steaming and dimpled revolution of that tragic and dirt crusted orb. Every six times, a small magical glinting toy surprise wrapped in sugar-dusty crinkled plastic was exposed, secretly, for a few fleeting moments, and no-one was ever there to see it happen. The sheer irony of this is so staggering as to be nearly incomprehensible, or at least this is the impression I get whenever I try to explain it to anyone.

During this time was the era in which a series of events unfolded which had heretofore unknown implications to any person of the earthward persuasion, from that time hence till the yawning abyss of all forgotten unrecorded futures did swallow us all up into its tenebrous and crackling maw.

It was amazing the amount of fractal weirdness was being forced through the sieve of my hapless brain at top speed, every waking second of my days, from the bellowing of traffic and clashing of steel truck parts to the television gabbling crazily into my burning eye sockets to the paperwork and telephone calls and the sousaphones and mayhem that seemingly never would end, to the crooning and wheeling stars in the cold endless well of the night sky above the rooftops of the buildings and the chattering transmissions of the invisible and Byzantine chimes of Christmas lights and experimental shredding apparatus.

I struggled to survive, I was so hopeless and mired in confusion, reality itself seemed like such a crazed, multi-expanding thing, it was terrifying the scope of it, like an accordion of madness, wheezing out in a million different directions, a blasted n-dimensional accordion, that mocks me with its relentless refusal to submit to state vector collapse, that it seems that the bizarre society that I perceive to be somehow hiding out fecklessly amidst its terrifyingly endless maze of gasket-like permutations is only blinking into the ether without soul or self-realization of any kind and knowing not what it is thinking or doing, at all.