Today’s post is a special one. One whose meaning I hope will not be lost on you, dear reader, as I explore some of the more profound chambers of the human soul. I will need you, dear reader, to stay focused with me as we venture into these dark and dusty rooms whose existence remains dubious to all who have never ventured into them. The ancient moldy mildew dusts everything in these chambers with a sepia hued shadow that threatens to reduce our memories of this visit to an ephemeral wisp of vision not unlike an astral dream sequence. Are you ready, dear reader? Here we go!
In Rome there lived a Senator. His name I can’t recall.
He lived his life enjoyably, like one big happy ball.
He left unto his children
the land bequeathed to him
and sure enough,
through rough and tough,
they held through thick and thin.
Passing from this amber arbor, we move slowly through the hall into the next chamber:
There lived a sad old witch’s child, whose name is long forgotten.
The witch’s view of everything was sadly sore and rotten.
And so when time to harvest came,
her herbs and newts and brain,
her child pointed out to her: you do not harvest brain.
Moving into the next chamber, we encounter this strange parabolic entity:
Three steps, two steps,
Three steps, trip and fall all the way to the bottom.
Dust yourself off and go have some cocoa.
Arriving at the parlor, we pause because we are tired and sit on the comfy couch to watch some Netflix. We fall asleep while the show continues unwatched. It doesn’t care.