All That Is
Counting telemetry we find comfort in the soul and souls of mice and Man. Ever-present we feel justified and in so bringing about our undying love of self we exude charm so that all may know. Who says that we can’t fool every one, ourselves included.
In a propensity of being we find that we are. Glorifying our selves we weep with joy, oh such a pretty and wonder-full sight to behold! As a master of disguise no one will ever suspect. Safe and true to our ideals the wheel turns and leaves us never alone or wanting. Our season tickets leaves nothing to be desired other than the raw nature of our own petty desires.
We are the ruling class.
Bending knee we find comfort that we have done so and leave no stone unturned in our quest of fulfillment. Boldly we go where we wish and do as we wish never suspecting the greatness of being such. Why reach for the stars when our own creation takes such precedent, looking becomes a poor substitute for seeing but why do we care, we have our selves.
In our embrace we find comfort and glee and over time what lies beyond is never more. All that is becomes all that we are.
Why leave home without it?1
I’ll give you some time to think about that. ↩