A Rhizomatic Chronology

[ForEverAfter]

unable to differentiate between latitude and longitude, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our desert landscape; our footprints lead in both directions, from where the sun sets to where it rises; the direction of our journey is unclear; time refuses to obey itself, in the absence of clocks; when day becomes night, night also becomes day; our desert landscape provides no answers; still, we close our eyes and ask our questions; unable to differentiate between man and cacti, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our soul; we invent God; our footprints diverge, perpendicular to the sun's trajectory, along the north-south axis; the horizon is always one step ahead, it never greets us; the direction of our journey remains unclear; the sky lingers between a constant blue and pitch black; between clouds and stars; unable to differentiate between night and day, we rebel against the creature that swallowed time; there are no seconds, minutes, or hours here; the fourth dimension lies far beyond the horizon; mischievous humanoid cacti, point spiky green arms towards nothing; our overlapping footprints fail to convince us of a journey; it is unclear whether we came this way or that; our mind treats memory like an oasis; unable to differentiate between north and south, we rebel against the void that swallowed our compass; our path defies linearity; our journey is directionless; we travel towards the horizon, and away from the horizon, always; it remains dusk or dawn; we fall to our knees and vomit half-digested time into our footprints; the sun and the moon are nowhere to be seen; alpha and omega join together; we, unable to differentiate between birth and death, reject mortality; there is no food, in this featureless desert landscape; we are too busy digesting time to starve; we cannot hear the string theory quartet over the sound of intestinal teeth gnashing against each other; we close our eyes and re-invent God; we open them, to discover melodic cacti pointing sour limbs towards lonely undulating dunes; unable to differentiate between the senses, we reject reason; our footprints lead nowhere; our journey has taken us softly in every direction; it is day and night; dusk and dawn; the sun is the moon; to be born is to die; we are the cacti; we listen to the sand; the featureless desert speaks volumes; we smell time decay; daydreams bleed into days, and nightmares into nights; unable to differentiate between imagination and reality, we embrace madness; co-occupying space as plant and man; our feet displacing sand as we walk; our path, forming a pattern; our roots, penetrating the earth, fusing our soul with nature; we are finite, and infinite; the cactus prevents earthquakes, and the man causes them; butterflies with heart defects are responsible for reality television; unable to differentiate between structure and randomness, we embrace chaos; God becomes mysterious; every grain of sand is important; this desert landscape is not featureless; our cacti limbs did not develop randomly; if they had formed any other way the universe would have collapsed upon itself; we kneel down and vomit time into our footprints; this is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between direct and indirect relationships, we associate and dissociate everything with everything else; an autistic foetus dictates the terms of our surrender; an autistic foetus, incapable of cognition, dictates nothing; our cacti thorns interfere with talkback radio waves; our thorns dictate the terms of our surrender; our radio waves do nothing; the autistic foetus cannot hear the talkback thorns; unable to differentiate between featureless landscapes and cosmic butterfly madness, we begin to unravel the broken clock; hours with infinite heart defects, chaos forming minute patterns, seconds and thirds gnashing against intestinal teeth; our mischievous soul displaces God; our featureless axis greets the horizon; butterflies die; sand is born; reality television is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between belief and disbelief, we begin to unravel the fabric of the universe; atoms, neutrons and protons; galaxies and solar systems; up-quarks and down-quarks; planets, moons, and asteroids; black holes, red giants, and blue dwarfs; string-theory; dark matter; M-theory; wormholes; our footprints lead us in every direction, but the journey takes us nowhere; we rest on lonely dunes, nibbling time; unable to differentiate between science and religion, we destroy them both; we bury logic alongside God; fresh sand settles over our footprints; we separate man from cactus; walking, East or West; walking, North or South; we do not hear the string-theory quartet; we cannot taste time as it passes; butterflies and foetuses keep to themselves; time does not stand still; unable to differentiate between the delusional and the rational, we destroy them both; man is neither separate from, nor fused with, the cactus; there is no such thing as man, or cactus; no atoms, neutrons or protons either; no string-theory quartets; no animals, vegetables, or minerals; no galaxies; no cardinal directions; no footprints full of regurgitated time; there is no time, at all; there is only the void; unable to differentiate between contradictory perspectives, we compartmentalize; madness and sanity never meet in the middle; science and religion still dead; our personality shatters; we are born, from fragments of our psyche; new personalities formed, each one distinct; we are, each of us, completely isolated; solitary; never to be challenged; never confronted by an opposing view; always, forever, alone; unable to differentiate between latitude and longitude, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our desert landscape; our footprints lead in both directions, from where the sun sets to where it rises; the direction of our journey is unclear; time refuses to obey itself, in the absence of clocks; when day becomes night, night also becomes day; our desert landscape provides no answers; still, we close our eyes and ask our questions; unable to differentiate between man and cacti, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our soul; we invent God; our footprints diverge, perpendicular to the sun's trajectory, along the north-south axis; the horizon is always one step ahead, it never greets us; the direction of our journey remains unclear; the sky lingers between a constant blue and pitch black; between clouds and stars; unable to differentiate between night and day, we rebel against the creature that swallowed time; there are no seconds, minutes, or hours here; the fourth dimension lies far beyond the horizon; mischievous humanoid cacti, point spiky green arms towards nothing; our overlapping footprints fail to convince us of a journey; it is unclear whether we came this way or that; our mind treats memory like an oasis; unable to differentiate between north and south, we rebel against the void that swallowed our compass; our path defies linearity; our journey is directionless; we travel towards the horizon, and away from the horizon, always; it remains dusk or dawn; we fall to our knees and vomit half-digested time into our footprints; the sun and the moon are nowhere to be seen; alpha and omega join together; we, unable to differentiate between birth and death, reject mortality; there is no food, in this featureless desert landscape; we are too busy digesting time to starve; we cannot hear the string theory quartet over the sound of intestinal teeth gnashing against each other; we close our eyes and re-invent God; we open them, to discover melodic cacti pointing sour limbs towards lonely undulating dunes; unable to differentiate between the senses, we reject reason; our footprints lead nowhere; our journey has taken us softly in every direction; it is day and night; dusk and dawn; the sun is the moon; to be born is to die; we are the cacti; we listen to the sand; the featureless desert speaks volumes; we smell time decay; daydreams bleed into days, and nightmares into nights; unable to differentiate between imagination and reality, we embrace madness; co-occupying space as plant and man; our feet displacing sand as we walk; our path, forming a pattern; our roots, penetrating the earth, fusing our soul with nature; we are finite, and infinite; the cactus prevents earthquakes, and the man causes them; butterflies with heart defects are responsible for reality television; unable to differentiate between structure and randomness, we embrace chaos; God becomes mysterious; every grain of sand is important; this desert landscape is not featureless; our cacti limbs did not develop randomly; if they had formed any other way the universe would have collapsed upon itself; we kneel down and vomit time into our footprints; this is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between direct and indirect relationships, we associate and dissociate everything with everything else; an autistic foetus dictates the terms of our surrender; an autistic foetus, incapable of cognition, dictates nothing; our cacti thorns interfere with talkback radio waves; our thorns dictate the terms of our surrender; our radio waves do nothing; the autistic foetus cannot hear the talkback thorns; unable to differentiate between featureless landscapes and cosmic butterfly madness, we begin to unravel the broken clock; hours with infinite heart defects, chaos forming minute patterns, seconds and thirds gnashing against intestinal teeth; our mischievous soul displaces God; our featureless axis greets the horizon; butterflies die; sand is born; reality television is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between belief and disbelief, we begin to unravel the fabric of the universe; atoms, neutrons and protons; galaxies and solar systems; up-quarks and down-quarks; planets, moons, and asteroids; black holes, red giants, and blue dwarfs; string-theory; dark matter; M-theory; wormholes; our footprints lead us in every direction, but the journey takes us nowhere; we rest on lonely dunes, nibbling time; unable to differentiate between science and religion, we destroy them both; we bury logic alongside God; fresh sand settles over our footprints; we separate man from cactus; walking, East or West; walking, North or South; we do not hear the string-theory quartet; we cannot taste time as it passes; butterflies and foetuses keep to themselves; time does not stand still; unable to differentiate between the delusional and the rational, we destroy them both; man is neither separate from, nor fused with, the cactus; there is no such thing as man, or cactus; no atoms, neutrons or protons either; no string-theory quartets; no animals, vegetables, or minerals; no galaxies; no cardinal directions; no footprints full of regurgitated time; there is no time, at all; there is only the void; unable to differentiate between contradictory perspectives, we compartmentalize; madness and sanity never meet in the middle; science and religion still dead; our personality shatters; we are born, from fragments of our psyche; new personalities formed, each one distinct; we are, each of us, completely isolated; solitary; never to be challenged; never confronted by an opposing view; always, forever, alone; unable to differentiate between latitude and longitude, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our desert landscape; our footprints lead in both directions, from where the sun sets to where it rises; the direction of our journey is unclear; time refuses to obey itself, in the absence of clocks; when day becomes night, night also becomes day; our desert landscape provides no answers; still, we close our eyes and ask our questions; unable to differentiate between man and cacti, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our soul; we invent God; our footprints diverge, perpendicular to the sun's trajectory, along the north-south axis; the horizon is always one step ahead, it never greets us; the direction of our journey remains unclear; the sky lingers between a constant blue and pitch black; between clouds and stars; unable to differentiate between night and day, we rebel against the creature that swallowed time; there are no seconds, minutes, or hours here; the fourth dimension lies far beyond the horizon; mischievous humanoid cacti, point spiky green arms towards nothing; our overlapping footprints fail to convince us of a journey; it is unclear whether we came this way or that; our mind treats memory like an oasis; unable to differentiate between north and south, we rebel against the void that swallowed our compass; our path defies linearity; our journey is directionless; we travel towards the horizon, and away from the horizon, always; it remains dusk or dawn; we fall to our knees and vomit half-digested time into our footprints; the sun and the moon are nowhere to be seen; alpha and omega join together; we, unable to differentiate between birth and death, reject mortality; there is no food, in this featureless desert landscape; we are too busy digesting time to starve; we cannot hear the string theory quartet over the sound of intestinal teeth gnashing against each other; we close our eyes and re-invent God; we open them, to discover melodic cacti pointing sour limbs towards lonely undulating dunes; unable to differentiate between the senses, we reject reason; our footprints lead nowhere; our journey has taken us softly in every direction; it is day and night; dusk and dawn; the sun is the moon; to be born is to die; we are the cacti; we listen to the sand; the featureless desert speaks volumes; we smell time decay; daydreams bleed into days, and nightmares into nights; unable to differentiate between imagination and reality, we embrace madness; co-occupying space as plant and man; our feet displacing sand as we walk; our path, forming a pattern; our roots, penetrating the earth, fusing our soul with nature; we are finite, and infinite; the cactus prevents earthquakes, and the man causes them; butterflies with heart defects are responsible for reality television; unable to differentiate between structure and randomness, we embrace chaos; God becomes mysterious; every grain of sand is important; this desert landscape is not featureless; our cacti limbs did not develop randomly; if they had formed any other way the universe would have collapsed upon itself; we kneel down and vomit time into our footprints; this is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between direct and indirect relationships, we associate and dissociate everything with everything else; an autistic foetus dictates the terms of our surrender; an autistic foetus, incapable of cognition, dictates nothing; our cacti thorns interfere with talkback radio waves; our thorns dictate the terms of our surrender; our radio waves do nothing; the autistic foetus cannot hear the talkback thorns; unable to differentiate between featureless landscapes and cosmic butterfly madness, we begin to unravel the broken clock; hours with infinite heart defects, chaos forming minute patterns, seconds and thirds gnashing against intestinal teeth; our mischievous soul displaces God; our featureless axis greets the horizon; butterflies die; sand is born; reality television is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between belief and disbelief, we begin to unravel the fabric of the universe; atoms, neutrons and protons; galaxies and solar systems; up-quarks and down-quarks; planets, moons, and asteroids; black holes, red giants, and blue dwarfs; string-theory; dark matter; M-theory; wormholes; our footprints lead us in every direction, but the journey takes us nowhere; we rest on lonely dunes, nibbling time; unable to differentiate between science and religion, we destroy them both; we bury logic alongside God; fresh sand settles over our footprints; we separate man from cactus; walking, East or West; walking, North or South; we do not hear the string-theory quartet; we cannot taste time as it passes; butterflies and foetuses keep to themselves; time does not stand still; unable to differentiate between the delusional and the rational, we destroy them both; man is neither separate from, nor fused with, the cactus; there is no such thing as man, or cactus; no atoms, neutrons or protons either; no string-theory quartets; no animals, vegetables, or minerals; no galaxies; no cardinal directions; no footprints full of regurgitated time; there is no time, at all; there is only the void; unable to differentiate between contradictory perspectives, we compartmentalize; madness and sanity never meet in the middle; science and religion still dead; our personality shatters; we are born, from fragments of our psyche; new personalities formed, each one distinct; we are, each of us, completely isolated; solitary; never to be challenged; never confronted by an opposing view; always, forever, alone; unable to differentiate between latitude and longitude, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our desert landscape; our footprints lead in both directions, from where the sun sets to where it rises; the direction of our journey is unclear; time refuses to obey itself, in the absence of clocks; when day becomes night, night also becomes day; our desert landscape provides no answers; still, we close our eyes and ask our questions; unable to differentiate between man and cacti, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our soul; we invent God; our footprints diverge, perpendicular to the sun's trajectory, along the north-south axis; the horizon is always one step ahead, it never greets us; the direction of our journey remains unclear; the sky lingers between a constant blue and pitch black; between clouds and stars; unable to differentiate between night and day, we rebel against the creature that swallowed time; there are no seconds, minutes, or hours here; the fourth dimension lies far beyond the horizon; mischievous humanoid cacti, point spiky green arms towards nothing; our overlapping footprints fail to convince us of a journey; it is unclear whether we came this way or that; our mind treats memory like an oasis; unable to differentiate between north and south, we rebel against the void that swallowed our compass; our path defies linearity; our journey is directionless; we travel towards the horizon, and away from the horizon, always; it remains dusk or dawn; we fall to our knees and vomit half-digested time into our footprints; the sun and the moon are nowhere to be seen; alpha and omega join together; we, unable to differentiate between birth and death, reject mortality; there is no food, in this featureless desert landscape; we are too busy digesting time to starve; we cannot hear the string theory quartet over the sound of intestinal teeth gnashing against each other; we close our eyes and re-invent God; we open them, to discover melodic cacti pointing sour limbs towards lonely undulating dunes; unable to differentiate between the senses, we reject reason; our footprints lead nowhere; our journey has taken us softly in every direction; it is day and night; dusk and dawn; the sun is the moon; to be born is to die; we are the cacti; we listen to the sand; the featureless desert speaks volumes; we smell time decay; daydreams bleed into days, and nightmares into nights; unable to differentiate between imagination and reality, we embrace madness; co-occupying space as plant and man; our feet displacing sand as we walk; our path, forming a pattern; our roots, penetrating the earth, fusing our soul with nature; we are finite, and infinite; the cactus prevents earthquakes, and the man causes them; butterflies with heart defects are responsible for reality television; unable to differentiate between structure and randomness, we embrace chaos; God becomes mysterious; every grain of sand is important; this desert landscape is not featureless; our cacti limbs did not develop randomly; if they had formed any other way the universe would have collapsed upon itself; we kneel down and vomit time into our footprints; this is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between direct and indirect relationships, we associate and dissociate everything with everything else; an autistic foetus dictates the terms of our surrender; an autistic foetus, incapable of cognition, dictates nothing; our cacti thorns interfere with talkback radio waves; our thorns dictate the terms of our surrender; our radio waves do nothing; the autistic foetus cannot hear the talkback thorns; unable to differentiate between featureless landscapes and cosmic butterfly madness, we begin to unravel the broken clock; hours with infinite heart defects, chaos forming minute patterns, seconds and thirds gnashing against intestinal teeth; our mischievous soul displaces God; our featureless axis greets the horizon; butterflies die; sand is born; reality television is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between belief and disbelief, we begin to unravel the fabric of the universe; atoms, neutrons and protons; galaxies and solar systems; up-quarks and down-quarks; planets, moons, and asteroids; black holes, red giants, and blue dwarfs; string-theory; dark matter; M-theory; wormholes; our footprints lead us in every direction, but the journey takes us nowhere; we rest on lonely dunes, nibbling time; unable to differentiate between science and religion, we destroy them both; we bury logic alongside God; fresh sand settles over our footprints; we separate man from cactus; walking, East or West; walking, North or South; we do not hear the string-theory quartet; we cannot taste time as it passes; butterflies and foetuses keep to themselves; time does not stand still; unable to differentiate between the delusional and the rational, we destroy them both; man is neither separate from, nor fused with, the cactus; there is no such thing as man, or cactus; no atoms, neutrons or protons either; no string-theory quartets; no animals, vegetables, or minerals; no galaxies; no cardinal directions; no footprints full of regurgitated time; there is no time, at all; there is only the void; unable to differentiate between contradictory perspectives, we compartmentalize; madness and sanity never meet in the middle; science and religion still dead; our personality shatters; we are born, from fragments of our psyche; new personalities formed, each one distinct; we are, each of us, completely isolated; solitary; never to be challenged; never confronted by an opposing view; always, forever, alone; unable to differentiate between latitude and longitude, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our desert landscape; our footprints lead in both directions, from where the sun sets to where it rises; the direction of our journey is unclear; time refuses to obey itself, in the absence of clocks; when day becomes night, night also becomes day; our desert landscape provides no answers; still, we close our eyes and ask our questions; unable to differentiate between man and cacti, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our soul; we invent God; our footprints diverge, perpendicular to the sun's trajectory, along the north-south axis; the horizon is always one step ahead, it never greets us; the direction of our journey remains unclear; the sky lingers between a constant blue and pitch black; between clouds and stars; unable to differentiate between night and day, we rebel against the creature that swallowed time; there are no seconds, minutes, or hours here; the fourth dimension lies far beyond the horizon; mischievous humanoid cacti, point spiky green arms towards nothing; our overlapping footprints fail to convince us of a journey; it is unclear whether we came this way or that; our mind treats memory like an oasis; unable to differentiate between north and south, we rebel against the void that swallowed our compass; our path defies linearity; our journey is directionless; we travel towards the horizon, and away from the horizon, always; it remains dusk or dawn; we fall to our knees and vomit half-digested time into our footprints; the sun and the moon are nowhere to be seen; alpha and omega join together; we, unable to differentiate between birth and death, reject mortality; there is no food, in this featureless desert landscape; we are too busy digesting time to starve; we cannot hear the string theory quartet over the sound of intestinal teeth gnashing against each other; we close our eyes and re-invent God; we open them, to discover melodic cacti pointing sour limbs towards lonely undulating dunes; unable to differentiate between the senses, we reject reason; our footprints lead nowhere; our journey has taken us softly in every direction; it is day and night; dusk and dawn; the sun is the moon; to be born is to die; we are the cacti; we listen to the sand; the featureless desert speaks volumes; we smell time decay; daydreams bleed into days, and nightmares into nights; unable to differentiate between imagination and reality, we embrace madness; co-occupying space as plant and man; our feet displacing sand as we walk; our path, forming a pattern; our roots, penetrating the earth, fusing our soul with nature; we are finite, and infinite; the cactus prevents earthquakes, and the man causes them; butterflies with heart defects are responsible for reality television; unable to differentiate between structure and randomness, we embrace chaos; God becomes mysterious; every grain of sand is important; this desert landscape is not featureless; our cacti limbs did not develop randomly; if they had formed any other way the universe would have collapsed upon itself; we kneel down and vomit time into our footprints; this is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between direct and indirect relationships, we associate and dissociate everything with everything else; an autistic foetus dictates the terms of our surrender; an autistic foetus, incapable of cognition, dictates nothing; our cacti thorns interfere with talkback radio waves; our thorns dictate the terms of our surrender; our radio waves do nothing; the autistic foetus cannot hear the talkback thorns; unable to differentiate between featureless landscapes and cosmic butterfly madness, we begin to unravel the broken clock; hours with infinite heart defects, chaos forming minute patterns, seconds and thirds gnashing against intestinal teeth; our mischievous soul displaces God; our featureless axis greets the horizon; butterflies die; sand is born; reality television is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between belief and disbelief, we begin to unravel the fabric of the universe; atoms, neutrons and protons; galaxies and solar systems; up-quarks and down-quarks; planets, moons, and asteroids; black holes, red giants, and blue dwarfs; string-theory; dark matter; M-theory; wormholes; our footprints lead us in every direction, but the journey takes us nowhere; we rest on lonely dunes, nibbling time; unable to differentiate between science and religion, we destroy them both; we bury logic alongside God; fresh sand settles over our footprints; we separate man from cactus; walking, East or West; walking, North or South; we do not hear the string-theory quartet; we cannot taste time as it passes; butterflies and foetuses keep to themselves; time does not stand still; unable to differentiate between the delusional and the rational, we destroy them both; man is neither separate from, nor fused with, the cactus; there is no such thing as man, or cactus; no atoms, neutrons or protons either; no string-theory quartets; no animals, vegetables, or minerals; no galaxies; no cardinal directions; no footprints full of regurgitated time; there is no time, at all; there is only the void; unable to differentiate between contradictory perspectives, we compartmentalize; madness and sanity never meet in the middle; science and religion still dead; our personality shatters; we are born, from fragments of our psyche; new personalities formed, each one distinct; we are, each of us, completely isolated; solitary; never to be challenged; never confronted by an opposing view; always, forever, alone; unable to differentiate between latitude and longitude, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our desert landscape; our footprints lead in both directions, from where the sun sets to where it rises; the direction of our journey is unclear; time refuses to obey itself, in the absence of clocks; when day becomes night, night also becomes day; our desert landscape provides no answers; still, we close our eyes and ask our questions; unable to differentiate between man and cacti, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our soul; we invent God; our footprints diverge, perpendicular to the sun's trajectory, along the north-south axis; the horizon is always one step ahead, it never greets us; the direction of our journey remains unclear; the sky lingers between a constant blue and pitch black; between clouds and stars; unable to differentiate between night and day, we rebel against the creature that swallowed time; there are no seconds, minutes, or hours here; the fourth dimension lies far beyond the horizon; mischievous humanoid cacti, point spiky green arms towards nothing; our overlapping footprints fail to convince us of a journey; it is unclear whether we came this way or that; our mind treats memory like an oasis; unable to differentiate between north and south, we rebel against the void that swallowed our compass; our path defies linearity; our journey is directionless; we travel towards the horizon, and away from the horizon, always; it remains dusk or dawn; we fall to our knees and vomit half-digested time into our footprints; the sun and the moon are nowhere to be seen; alpha and omega join together; we, unable to differentiate between birth and death, reject mortality; there is no food, in this featureless desert landscape; we are too busy digesting time to starve; we cannot hear the string theory quartet over the sound of intestinal teeth gnashing against each other; we close our eyes and re-invent God; we open them, to discover melodic cacti pointing sour limbs towards lonely undulating dunes; unable to differentiate between the senses, we reject reason; our footprints lead nowhere; our journey has taken us softly in every direction; it is day and night; dusk and dawn; the sun is the moon; to be born is to die; we are the cacti; we listen to the sand; the featureless desert speaks volumes; we smell time decay; daydreams bleed into days, and nightmares into nights; unable to differentiate between imagination and reality, we embrace madness; co-occupying space as plant and man; our feet displacing sand as we walk; our path, forming a pattern; our roots, penetrating the earth, fusing our soul with nature; we are finite, and infinite; the cactus prevents earthquakes, and the man causes them; butterflies with heart defects are responsible for reality television; unable to differentiate between structure and randomness, we embrace chaos; God becomes mysterious; every grain of sand is important; this desert landscape is not featureless; our cacti limbs did not develop randomly; if they had formed any other way the universe would have collapsed upon itself; we kneel down and vomit time into our footprints; this is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between direct and indirect relationships, we associate and dissociate everything with everything else; an autistic foetus dictates the terms of our surrender; an autistic foetus, incapable of cognition, dictates nothing; our cacti thorns interfere with talkback radio waves; our thorns dictate the terms of our surrender; our radio waves do nothing; the autistic foetus cannot hear the talkback thorns; unable to differentiate between featureless landscapes and cosmic butterfly madness, we begin to unravel the broken clock; hours with infinite heart defects, chaos forming minute patterns, seconds and thirds gnashing against intestinal teeth; our mischievous soul displaces God; our featureless axis greets the horizon; butterflies die; sand is born; reality television is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between belief and disbelief, we begin to unravel the fabric of the universe; atoms, neutrons and protons; galaxies and solar systems; up-quarks and down-quarks; planets, moons, and asteroids; black holes, red giants, and blue dwarfs; string-theory; dark matter; M-theory; wormholes; our footprints lead us in every direction, but the journey takes us nowhere; we rest on lonely dunes, nibbling time; unable to differentiate between science and religion, we destroy them both; we bury logic alongside God; fresh sand settles over our footprints; we separate man from cactus; walking, East or West; walking, North or South; we do not hear the string-theory quartet; we cannot taste time as it passes; butterflies and foetuses keep to themselves; time does not stand still; unable to differentiate between the delusional and the rational, we destroy them both; man is neither separate from, nor fused with, the cactus; there is no such thing as man, or cactus; no atoms, neutrons or protons either; no string-theory quartets; no animals, vegetables, or minerals; no galaxies; no cardinal directions; no footprints full of regurgitated time; there is no time, at all; there is only the void; unable to differentiate between contradictory perspectives, we compartmentalize; madness and sanity never meet in the middle; science and religion still dead; our personality shatters; we are born, from fragments of our psyche; new personalities formed, each one distinct; we are, each of us, completely isolated; solitary; never to be challenged; never confronted by an opposing view; always, forever, alone; unable to differentiate between latitude and longitude, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our desert landscape; our footprints lead in both directions, from where the sun sets to where it rises; the direction of our journey is unclear; time refuses to obey itself, in the absence of clocks; when day becomes night, night also becomes day; our desert landscape provides no answers; still, we close our eyes and ask our questions; unable to differentiate between man and cacti, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our soul; we invent God; our footprints diverge, perpendicular to the sun's trajectory, along the north-south axis; the horizon is always one step ahead, it never greets us; the direction of our journey remains unclear; the sky lingers between a constant blue and pitch black; between clouds and stars; unable to differentiate between night and day, we rebel against the creature that swallowed time; there are no seconds, minutes, or hours here; the fourth dimension lies far beyond the horizon; mischievous humanoid cacti, point spiky green arms towards nothing; our overlapping footprints fail to convince us of a journey; it is unclear whether we came this way or that; our mind treats memory like an oasis; unable to differentiate between north and south, we rebel against the void that swallowed our compass; our path defies linearity; our journey is directionless; we travel towards the horizon, and away from the horizon, always; it remains dusk or dawn; we fall to our knees and vomit half-digested time into our footprints; the sun and the moon are nowhere to be seen; alpha and omega join together; we, unable to differentiate between birth and death, reject mortality; there is no food, in this featureless desert landscape; we are too busy digesting time to starve; we cannot hear the string theory quartet over the sound of intestinal teeth gnashing against each other; we close our eyes and re-invent God; we open them, to discover melodic cacti pointing sour limbs towards lonely undulating dunes; unable to differentiate between the senses, we reject reason; our footprints lead nowhere; our journey has taken us softly in every direction; it is day and night; dusk and dawn; the sun is the moon; to be born is to die; we are the cacti; we listen to the sand; the featureless desert speaks volumes; we smell time decay; daydreams bleed into days, and nightmares into nights; unable to differentiate between imagination and reality, we embrace madness; co-occupying space as plant and man; our feet displacing sand as we walk; our path, forming a pattern; our roots, penetrating the earth, fusing our soul with nature; we are finite, and infinite; the cactus prevents earthquakes, and the man causes them; butterflies with heart defects are responsible for reality television; unable to differentiate between structure and randomness, we embrace chaos; God becomes mysterious; every grain of sand is important; this desert landscape is not featureless; our cacti limbs did not develop randomly; if they had formed any other way the universe would have collapsed upon itself; we kneel down and vomit time into our footprints; this is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between direct and indirect relationships, we associate and dissociate everything with everything else; an autistic foetus dictates the terms of our surrender; an autistic foetus, incapable of cognition, dictates nothing; our cacti thorns interfere with talkback radio waves; our thorns dictate the terms of our surrender; our radio waves do nothing; the autistic foetus cannot hear the talkback thorns; unable to differentiate between featureless landscapes and cosmic butterfly madness, we begin to unravel the broken clock; hours with infinite heart defects, chaos forming minute patterns, seconds and thirds gnashing against intestinal teeth; our mischievous soul displaces God; our featureless axis greets the horizon; butterflies die; sand is born; reality television is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between belief and disbelief, we begin to unravel the fabric of the universe; atoms, neutrons and protons; galaxies and solar systems; up-quarks and down-quarks; planets, moons, and asteroids; black holes, red giants, and blue dwarfs; string-theory; dark matter; M-theory; wormholes; our footprints lead us in every direction, but the journey takes us nowhere; we rest on lonely dunes, nibbling time; unable to differentiate between science and religion, we destroy them both; we bury logic alongside God; fresh sand settles over our footprints; we separate man from cactus; walking, East or West; walking, North or South; we do not hear the string-theory quartet; we cannot taste time as it passes; butterflies and foetuses keep to themselves; time does not stand still; unable to differentiate between the delusional and the rational, we destroy them both; man is neither separate from, nor fused with, the cactus; there is no such thing as man, or cactus; no atoms, neutrons or protons either; no string-theory quartets; no animals, vegetables, or minerals; no galaxies; no cardinal directions; no footprints full of regurgitated time; there is no time, at all; there is only the void; unable to differentiate between contradictory perspectives, we compartmentalize; madness and sanity never meet in the middle; science and religion still dead; our personality shatters; we are born, from fragments of our psyche; new personalities formed, each one distinct; we are, each of us, completely isolated; solitary; never to be challenged; never confronted by an opposing view; always, forever, alone; unable to differentiate between latitude and longitude, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our desert landscape; our footprints lead in both directions, from where the sun sets to where it rises; the direction of our journey is unclear; time refuses to obey itself, in the absence of clocks; when day becomes night, night also becomes day; our desert landscape provides no answers; still, we close our eyes and ask our questions; unable to differentiate between man and cacti, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our soul; we invent God; our footprints diverge, perpendicular to the sun's trajectory, along the north-south axis; the horizon is always one step ahead, it never greets us; the direction of our journey remains unclear; the sky lingers between a constant blue and pitch black; between clouds and stars; unable to differentiate between night and day, we rebel against the creature that swallowed time; there are no seconds, minutes, or hours here; the fourth dimension lies far beyond the horizon; mischievous humanoid cacti, point spiky green arms towards nothing; our overlapping footprints fail to convince us of a journey; it is unclear whether we came this way or that; our mind treats memory like an oasis; unable to differentiate between north and south, we rebel against the void that swallowed our compass; our path defies linearity; our journey is directionless; we travel towards the horizon, and away from the horizon, always; it remains dusk or dawn; we fall to our knees and vomit half-digested time into our footprints; the sun and the moon are nowhere to be seen; alpha and omega join together; we, unable to differentiate between birth and death, reject mortality; there is no food, in this featureless desert landscape; we are too busy digesting time to starve; we cannot hear the string theory quartet over the sound of intestinal teeth gnashing against each other; we close our eyes and re-invent God; we open them, to discover melodic cacti pointing sour limbs towards lonely undulating dunes; unable to differentiate between the senses, we reject reason; our footprints lead nowhere; our journey has taken us softly in every direction; it is day and night; dusk and dawn; the sun is the moon; to be born is to die; we are the cacti; we listen to the sand; the featureless desert speaks volumes; we smell time decay; daydreams bleed into days, and nightmares into nights; unable to differentiate between imagination and reality, we embrace madness; co-occupying space as plant and man; our feet displacing sand as we walk; our path, forming a pattern; our roots, penetrating the earth, fusing our soul with nature; we are finite, and infinite; the cactus prevents earthquakes, and the man causes them; butterflies with heart defects are responsible for reality television; unable to differentiate between structure and randomness, we embrace chaos; God becomes mysterious; every grain of sand is important; this desert landscape is not featureless; our cacti limbs did not develop randomly; if they had formed any other way the universe would have collapsed upon itself; we kneel down and vomit time into our footprints; this is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between direct and indirect relationships, we associate and dissociate everything with everything else; an autistic foetus dictates the terms of our surrender; an autistic foetus, incapable of cognition, dictates nothing; our cacti thorns interfere with talkback radio waves; our thorns dictate the terms of our surrender; our radio waves do nothing; the autistic foetus cannot hear the talkback thorns; unable to differentiate between featureless landscapes and cosmic butterfly madness, we begin to unravel the broken clock; hours with infinite heart defects, chaos forming minute patterns, seconds and thirds gnashing against intestinal teeth; our mischievous soul displaces God; our featureless axis greets the horizon; butterflies die; sand is born; reality television is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between belief and disbelief, we begin to unravel the fabric of the universe; atoms, neutrons and protons; galaxies and solar systems; up-quarks and down-quarks; planets, moons, and asteroids; black holes, red giants, and blue dwarfs; string-theory; dark matter; M-theory; wormholes; our footprints lead us in every direction, but the journey takes us nowhere; we rest on lonely dunes, nibbling time; unable to differentiate between science and religion, we destroy them both; we bury logic alongside God; fresh sand settles over our footprints; we separate man from cactus; walking, East or West; walking, North or South; we do not hear the string-theory quartet; we cannot taste time as it passes; butterflies and foetuses keep to themselves; time does not stand still; unable to differentiate between the delusional and the rational, we destroy them both; man is neither separate from, nor fused with, the cactus; there is no such thing as man, or cactus; no atoms, neutrons or protons either; no string-theory quartets; no animals, vegetables, or minerals; no galaxies; no cardinal directions; no footprints full of regurgitated time; there is no time, at all; there is only the void; unable to differentiate between contradictory perspectives, we compartmentalize; madness and sanity never meet in the middle; science and religion still dead; our personality shatters; we are born, from fragments of our psyche; new personalities formed, each one distinct; we are, each of us, completely isolated; solitary; never to be challenged; never confronted by an opposing view; always, forever, alone; unable to differentiate between latitude and longitude, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our desert landscape; our footprints lead in both directions, from where the sun sets to where it rises; the direction of our journey is unclear; time refuses to obey itself, in the absence of clocks; when day becomes night, night also becomes day; our desert landscape provides no answers; still, we close our eyes and ask our questions; unable to differentiate between man and cacti, we rebel against the uncompromising featurelessness of our soul; we invent God; our footprints diverge, perpendicular to the sun's trajectory, along the north-south axis; the horizon is always one step ahead, it never greets us; the direction of our journey remains unclear; the sky lingers between a constant blue and pitch black; between clouds and stars; unable to differentiate between night and day, we rebel against the creature that swallowed time; there are no seconds, minutes, or hours here; the fourth dimension lies far beyond the horizon; mischievous humanoid cacti, point spiky green arms towards nothing; our overlapping footprints fail to convince us of a journey; it is unclear whether we came this way or that; our mind treats memory like an oasis; unable to differentiate between north and south, we rebel against the void that swallowed our compass; our path defies linearity; our journey is directionless; we travel towards the horizon, and away from the horizon, always; it remains dusk or dawn; we fall to our knees and vomit half-digested time into our footprints; the sun and the moon are nowhere to be seen; alpha and omega join together; we, unable to differentiate between birth and death, reject mortality; there is no food, in this featureless desert landscape; we are too busy digesting time to starve; we cannot hear the string theory quartet over the sound of intestinal teeth gnashing against each other; we close our eyes and re-invent God; we open them, to discover melodic cacti pointing sour limbs towards lonely undulating dunes; unable to differentiate between the senses, we reject reason; our footprints lead nowhere; our journey has taken us softly in every direction; it is day and night; dusk and dawn; the sun is the moon; to be born is to die; we are the cacti; we listen to the sand; the featureless desert speaks volumes; we smell time decay; daydreams bleed into days, and nightmares into nights; unable to differentiate between imagination and reality, we embrace madness; co-occupying space as plant and man; our feet displacing sand as we walk; our path, forming a pattern; our roots, penetrating the earth, fusing our soul with nature; we are finite, and infinite; the cactus prevents earthquakes, and the man causes them; butterflies with heart defects are responsible for reality television; unable to differentiate between structure and randomness, we embrace chaos; God becomes mysterious; every grain of sand is important; this desert landscape is not featureless; our cacti limbs did not develop randomly; if they had formed any other way the universe would have collapsed upon itself; we kneel down and vomit time into our footprints; this is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between direct and indirect relationships, we associate and dissociate everything with everything else; an autistic foetus dictates the terms of our surrender; an autistic foetus, incapable of cognition, dictates nothing; our cacti thorns interfere with talkback radio waves; our thorns dictate the terms of our surrender; our radio waves do nothing; the autistic foetus cannot hear the talkback thorns; unable to differentiate between featureless landscapes and cosmic butterfly madness, we begin to unravel the broken clock; hours with infinite heart defects, chaos forming minute patterns, seconds and thirds gnashing against intestinal teeth; our mischievous soul displaces God; our featureless axis greets the horizon; butterflies die; sand is born; reality television is an integral part of the cosmic machine; unable to differentiate between belief and disbelief, we begin to unravel the fabric of the universe; atoms, neutrons and protons; galaxies and solar systems; up-quarks and down-quarks; planets, moons, and asteroids; black holes, red giants, and blue dwarfs; string-theory; dark matter; M-theory; wormholes; our footprints lead us in every direction, but the journey takes us nowhere; we rest on lonely dunes, nibbling time; unable to differentiate between science and religion, we destroy them both; we bury logic alongside God; fresh sand settles over our footprints; we separate man from cactus; walking, East or West; walking, North or South; we do not hear the string-theory quartet; we cannot taste time as it passes; butterflies and foetuses keep to themselves; time does not stand still; unable to differentiate between the delusional and the rational, we destroy them both; man is neither separate from, nor fused with, the cactus; there is no such thing as man, or cactus; no atoms, neutrons or protons either; no string-theory quartets; no animals, vegetables, or minerals; no galaxies; no cardinal directions; no footprints full of regurgitated time; there is no time, at all; there is only the void; unable to differentiate between contradictory perspectives, we compartmentalize; madness and sanity never meet in the middle; science and religion still dead; our personality shatters; we are born, from fragments of our psyche; new personalities formed, each one distinct; we are, each of us, completely isolated; solitary; never to be challenged; never confronted by an opposing view; always, forever, alone;

 

[laugh]

Wow dude, I like the way your head (dis)functions!! Crazy read, I think I need glasses now