The world of shells. I suppose it has existed since the beginning of time. Having a sixth sense for mounting chaos. I can’t go outside anymore. People talk about politics and all these people and places they know nothing about. When I look in their eyes I see nothing. They are empty, broken, shells.

It’s unpleasant to see. But, it’s just people we’re dealing with here. The true weirdness begins when you observe the things that are used to occupy the vacant spaces the average person calls their mind. I suggest getting a new folder for your filing cabinet and labeling it “Dump Minded” and putting it all in there. All of it.

Clutter is alive, I’m convinced. In the same way I’m convinced we are actually just the servants of ideas. A host of ideas. Then we enter into the Viennese realm of “The Death Trip” and I have no choice but to freak out. The human race is absolutely bonkers. It’s gotten to the point where everyday I pass by someone on the street having a nervous breakdown. Has it always been like this?

I think it has. If you stare long enough into the ice cream cone, it will begin to stare back. Or grimace. I would suggest telling jokes to the ice cream cone in an effort to have it smile, but that would be unadulterated insanity.