He was a radiant natural for quantum shamanistics,

He was a radiant natural for quantum shamanistics, sans drugs, sans patches, sans nanites - but his inner music was too beneficial, so they put him down. He gasped, "The tide rises

, the tide falls, I'm already inside, now I'll be outside." His cells thrrew off their cytoskeletal shackles & his body moprhed & flowed into the environment. He was nowhere & ever

ywhere. He was a beautiful soup of gorgeous genes. He flowed over rock and glen until he came upon a quiet ledge in bleak Wastwater. In those cold depths he blended with the genes

of the sperm whales which had recently reproduced in the vicinity. He thought it was kinda gross, but also kinda not. He continued to flow, entering a crevice in the sea floor and

settled there hoping fins would grow out of his sides. He waited 550 million years but nothing happened because evolution was dead. He pondered the possibilities.

Maybe time has stopped. Maybe I'm outside the radiation belt. Maybe there is no such thing as evolution. Maybe evolution is like a game of dominos and I'm the last piece in the

box. Maybe all this existential stuff is just a pile of nonsense. Maybe I should have paid my phone bill on time. Maybe I'm allergic to soybeans. Who the hell cares? I've got the

right to remain silent, because I'm pretty sure anything I say could & would be used against me. So that's what I did. Oh, they tried to trick me with their existential soybeans,

and a plethora of hugs, but the newlyweds' happy circumstance failed to move me to words. They'd write songs of me, I decided. Silent Scorn was my name AND my game.