My son was hit by an experimental thingamajig ray, and now he's a walking glow stick who can't wear pants.
I love that moment when you make eye contact with a dog and he slyly smiles and nods to let you know he's secretly a tiny man in a dog suit.
For a moment everything was clear, and when that happens you see that the world is barely there at all. Don't we all secretly know this? It's a perfectly balanced mechanism of shouts and echoes pretending to be wheels and cogs, a dreamclock chiming beneath a mystery-glass we call life. Behind it? Below it and around it? Chaos, storms. Men with hammers, men with knives, men with guns. Women who twist what they cannot dominate and belittle what they cannot understand. A universe of horror and loss surrounding a single lighted stage where mortals dance in defiance of the dark.
You know what I want to be? Nothing, you dig? If you can't dig "nothing", you can't dig anything. Dig?