Why does it feel this way?
I do this walking around at night thing a lot, and every single time I do it, I'm alone - an isolated thing; a self contained window on the universe. So I ask myself for the umpteenth time - is everyone alone inside themselves, or is it just me? It's how I've felt for my entire life, since I was old enough to remember being alive. It feels natural... this cut-off, isolated feeling. The way cancer feels natural. That's the way I've always thought of it.
Allow me to elucidate. Firstly, we have selfish to the second power - that is, the object of our discussion - multiplied by selfish. Or selfish squared, or the opposite of the square root of selfish. Anyway. Then you multiply all of that crap by altruism, and then divide it all by patience. Then, after all that, the only thing left is to plug in the value of the specific triomial nomenclature pertaining to whatever it was that the poem was about, which is, in this case... the deus ex machina, and you wind up with what seems like a lot of pretentious bullshit. Ha ha ha! But seriously though. Right? Yeah! Hee hee hee. So. Yeah. But seriously. Right? Will you go with me? Yes - No - circle one?
Here I am, and it feels to me like life is an immense bear trap; the dimensions of which aren't measured in space, but in duration... always only a day or two away from its purpose, which happens to be adjacent to, parallel to, perpendicular to, and opposite of mine.