andru235 'argh', the name of an entity that has lived billions of times and will live billions of times again. monsieur argh didn't care for the way i breathed life into it when i accidentally dropped a chocolate ice cream cone on the white sofa for the ninety-second time that afternoon

said argh, 'argh!'

weeks later i received a letter from argh refering me instead to 'yikes', and i have been a yikeser ever since

[countdown until someone becomes irate that i used 'yikeser' because it isn't proper]







i mean, ooof! dear argh, i am so sorry. i didn't mean to invoke your name in vain. i really meant yikes. habits take time to reform, surely you understand.

argh says, "i understand. in fact, i am very nice. now quit talking to me and leave."

so i depart. as i walk the long road home, i pass the orange blossoms and tears well in my eyes.

are the tears forming because i am sad, or am i having an allergic reaction? although my instinct says that i am sad, i am familiar enough with science and religion to know that i must reject my emotional impulses, for they are worldly and/or irrational. i consult a biologist, and after extensive studies, it is determined that i was not, in fact, sad, nor was it from allergies. after consulting a meteorologist and an astronomer, a conclusion is reached as to the source of the tears.

apparently it was this wierd phenomenon in which a cloud rains into a wormhole and the rain ends up somewhere else. who knows where it came from, but in this case the wormhole's exit(s) happened - by sheer coincidence - to be very near my eyes, and was moving in the same direction as i walked. that is why i seemed to cry; rain through a wormhole (perhaps i am dead? if i now live then it must be so). our paths - the wormhole and i - diverged after ninety-two miles, which explains quite clearly why my tears then ceased. i'd mistakenly correlated the cessation of weeping with arriving home.

now i am going to talk about chandeliers. they are sometimes found on ceilings. uninstalled, they are found often in boxes, for it is modernity, yet again. in this modernity we box things first. it is so exciting to be calling our times modern, for the twenty-ninth century in a row. hooray!

sometimes chandeliers are found on the floor. either it fell, or that is its prefered location, as in the case of the chandelier on the thatched tile linoleum of madame von hendrickson's adobe pagoda.

people like chandeliers - excepting, of course, those who are indifferent or antipathetic. one of the fascinating characteristics is that we express our disdain for the pathetic with a vigorous outpouring of pathos, which is pathetic. (someone was blathing about ourobouros; there it is again.) rare is the one who is apathetic to the pathetic. in this modernity, like others before, we prefer the antipathetic - though i speak neither for me nor you, nor for anyone else, as usual.

sometimes people dine beneath chandeliers. it truly can be magnificent, but when i say this, i must placate those who are strongly antipathetic when it comes to sub-chandelierian cuisine. truly, i'd best walk a line. frankly, it would be preachy of me to claim that people dine beneath chandeliers; how would i know? i cannot prove it, and one must have proof, must one not? it would be arrogant and so very offensive for me to make such claims about knowing that people dine beneath chandeliers.

and yet were i to claim i did not know, and that no one else should pretend to know either, i would only rile the feathers of those who have dined beneath chandeliers and are certain that this is an event that occurs; indeed, some may be dining under a chandelier presently. there might be twenty-nine diners dining beneath a chandelier at a restaurant but i will warn them not to claim knowledge of it; it could upset the rival faction. now i go to warn them, and they laugh me from the table, for they are certain that *everyone* is dining beneath a chandelier. says one, "dining beneath a chandelier is the only thing that exists."

i guess i shall find no peer, so i must trust my instinct.

oh, but now i have offended those whom believe not in instinct. to them, it is all merely learned behavior and one has no choice in the matter; we are secretly automatons. yet, if that is true, then i couldn't helped myself anyway, so i ought be excused. (the less well known reverse-ourobouros, which retreats as it continually barfs itself up.)

i am throwing caution to the wind; here i am, offering knowledge about something that someone else will become irritable about and declare that i could not know, thus missing the point. were it true that i did not, they could not claim to possess certain knowledge thereto any more than i, lest they sail into the hazardous bozoporous and the double-standardenelles.

but i can be certain. what is to stop me? as history and present day are filled with people making certain declarations that later prove partially false, i may as well join ranks with the finest. there is nothing to stop you from doing the same! this paragraph possess the wonderful quality of being non-ironic ironic irony. figuratively literal figurations. a literally figurative literation.

so, back to the knowledge i am offering. who cares, frankly. yet, how would it be any worse for me to hold it in. would thee, o critic, prefer the company of those who proclaim a false modesty, feigning nothing?

if you know you know nothing, you know something. so it is. you might as well know some thing(s).

and if the things you are certain of are polar-opposite from my myriad blathings, then you haven't understood me at all: i haven't a polar opposite. my credo is, it_all_exists (although it does not belong to me, of course) and that would include any potential opposite. i agree with you on the point is that you are correct, even if you are incorrect. and i agree with myself all the same, correct or incorrect. have the endless paradoxes of this even-dimensional realm not yet shown you?

total delusion conceals a truth, if not many truths. and to think one has discovered pure truth is the surest of delusions. the more delusions, the more truths. so it becomes easiest to live under the illusion that there is only one true-reality - which, delusion though it be, is yet true, for the only true reality to thee is the reality that is true to you. so it is false again, truly.

as with 1,426,536,795 other humans (and growing by the minute) i am from an odd-valued dimension where opposite and paradox function differently, all; this is an oversimplification aimed at appeasing the math-controls-everything crowd, an appeasement that shall surely fail. that there could exist a completely different math with operant 'logic' and 'value' is a certainty that is hastily rejected, for lack of evidence. and the any shred of evidence would be converted to the localized math and dismissed as evidence. the evidence abounds...but to see it, you must accept the possibility of it. like everything else, really.

to no surprise, the probe as to the mysterious results of nothing effected upon nothing yielded minimal results...but there were a few...and a few can become many. so symbolic: there is more evidence for your blinded dismissal. although i do not, of course, refer to 'you', if thee be there at all.

proceed by analogy and one frequently finds more, and not less. if i declare this to be sensical, which it is, the paradox humans will respond with allegations of arrogance and error, finding me insensical. yet if i declared it insensical, the response edges towards sensical. you've observed it a hundred times before, regarding other things. this very paradoxicality confirms this; and if one has followed, one will see that it actually negates itself, then affirms itself, ad infinitum...

hey! lets talk about appaloosas! well, there was this pretty horse, and...
Lemon_Soda Good lord, that was fantastic. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Blathe on! 050720
marked . 050721
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