Nebulas bloom, planets collide and around the checker board like a bratty little brother on his new blue snail trails of ice in his wake
Ancient cosmic afterbirth floats helplessly on it's own inertia waiting impatiently for the bullying gas giant to it towards it's next and I sit in a Thai basking in the curry, fretting the of the dawn
I need to arm myself a rodent lower on the food chain readying for the next from all sides
The voice inside the box is certain that if I get what he has my will be complete, my hole will be filled, and the bombardment will cease
"This sweater does this, that gadget those, and this magazine address the most pertinent aspects of my dot, dot, dot, com" and I believe him! I don't to but I do!
I am a little kitten in a big, shit filled litter box and I share this facility with a billion other fiercely independent felines who want badly to arm themselves too against the burdens of uncertainty and keep their paws in the meantime! meantime, meantime, meantime... Yet the more I dig, the more I consume, the more I unfold, the less protected I
I am the spit on the hair of a son of an electron swimming around the nucleus of a cell inside the sperm of a killer bee and my purpose is as nebulous as why we've been bestowed with the capacity to give a