As I wandered through my mind today, I pondered how I imagined the universe might most like to play, and as I did I wrote:
A little birdie, sailing through time and space before a wake of cosmic dust behind its asteroid boat, whispered something to my eyeball that caused my soul to rust and which I ought not paraphrase, and so I quote: "The "matrix" we know is just one of many leaves on a low-hanging branch, and its parent tree—the sum of the layers of perception you are capable of achieving as your purest selves in your greatest moments of believing—is just one again of many more fictitious fixations like it - casting their great shadows by the lights of your small fireflies of hope, inside of which are born and live and die an infinity of entire forests you cannot hope to know or ever even spy." Then, with a cathartic sigh, the little birdie rattled and died - its final and most comprehensive truth conveyed, in which its honest acceptance of a truly impossible dream allowed for it the most peaceful possible end that could ever find any living thing: no longer living, and thus no longer a lie.
A little birdie, sailing through time and space before a wake of cosmic dust behind its asteroid boat, whispered something to my eyeball that caused my soul to rust and which I ought not paraphrase, and so I quote: "The "matrix" we know is just one of many leaves on a low-hanging branch, and its parent tree—the sum of the layers of perception you are capable of achieving as your purest selves in your greatest moments of believing—is just one again of many more fictitious fixations like it - casting their great shadows by the lights of your small fireflies of hope, inside of which are born and live and die an infinity of entire forests you cannot hope to know or ever even spy." Then, with a cathartic sigh, the little birdie rattled and died - its final and most comprehensive truth conveyed, in which its honest acceptance of a truly impossible dream allowed for it the most peaceful possible end that could ever find any living thing: no longer living, and thus no longer a lie.
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