qirasho lix iyo toban

as all dreams and screams know  to the extent it exists realitys a hypersphere or sphere or patasphere and the geography of these spheres includes a centre a circumference and a middle   sure the centres everywhere and the circumferences nowhere and the middles somewhere or the middles nowhere and the centres somewhere and the circumferences everywhere or however you want to put it in your fancischmantzi sophistries and all that may be true but theres still  like pollen and sand and clouds  middles and circumferences and centres  and what we call progress is just the expansion of the sphere so theres more middle and circumference   or more aptly what we call progress is part of a process we could describe as the breathing of the sphere as it expands and contracts   our obsession with wholeness wellness yoga spirituality ayahuasca the whole theybang relates to the fact that while we long to mirror the sphere in ourselves the spheres become too monstrously huge for us to do that  and its garbages so massively voluminous now even if you could for an instant hold the whole within you  including all its garbage for you cant have the mixterclean without the meowlitter  youd immediately incinerate   so despite yab about authenticity or unity or whathaveyou we have to specialize   most people  quite sensibly  praiseem lunchwithem  specialize in an aspect of the middle  they become lawyers or rangers or mercenaries or hrprofessionals or junkies or fishmongers or writers or mishfongers or mechanics or wastemanagementworkers  and there in that world they live and judge and breathe   but a few losers cant resist the perversion to dwell elsewhere  somewhere on the edges maybe   for as one cant be a competent surgeon  hairstylist  accountant  and prizewinning rhododenron grower  so one cant habitate along all regions of the circumference either   nobody understands anyone outside their specialty of course and even then its suspect which is why were all so obsessed with communication   because communication like tomorrow never happens   but at least the whonyms of the galacticallysized middle  however much they want to kill each other  are manufactured to function according to the operating principles of the middle and speak machinespeak to one another and think theyre poets   but those of us of the elsewheres have a completely different manual and dictionary  and so all of this toos happening when i go out to get eggs

speaking of eggs why do manual and dictionary have man and dick in them   if a woman wrote womanuals and cuntionaries what would they look like   confessings‽