Talking about famous people, right? We can all relate to that. Talking about the jolly old famous people. Many a happy day, many a happy day. Days of ease and leisure. The dreams come and go but some things stay the same. ‘What things are they’, you ask. What things are they. You speak out of the side of your mouth so that no one can see that you’re talking. It’s an old trick of yours. Everyone has a sporting chance, so they say, but the truth is that no one does – we’re all fodder for the Muncing Machine. We have no chance at all, sporting or otherwise. That’s ironic, isn’t it? Or maybe ironic is the wrong word here. Maybe it’s another word I’m looking for. The point remains the same however – the point remains the same. Every now and again, by some freak kind of accident, an idea floats into my head and takes up residence there and in response I create an intention, a plan, a strategy of some kind or another. All of a sudden I get all cunning in myself and I start scheming away like a good ‘un. It never works out for me however, no matter how much effort I put into it. It’s always a big big flop. I’ve gone beyond feeling demoralised at this stage – ‘What’s it all about,’ I ask myself, ‘what’s it all about’. Not that I actually want to know of course. I definitely don’t want to know. I’d be afraid to find out because it might be something bad. It probably is something bad. Garbage thoughts drift pointlessly into my head (from wherever it is they come from) and they lodge obstinately inside me, darkening my world as a result. ‘I’m living under a shadow,’ I tell myself sadly, ‘I’m living in the Darkened World now and all the life-giving light has been denied me…’ Garbage thoughts come to possess me you see, but if the truth were to be known I’ve kind of got used to it by now. I’m comfortable with it. If garbage thoughts of some type or description didn’t possess me I’d wonder what was up. I’d be suspicious, wary, distrustful, ill at ease… I am an Adapted Being and the reason for this is that I have now been fully absorbed into the system, co-opted by the system, subsumed within the system, and so on. ‘What’s it all about,’ I ask myself, ‘what’s it all about.’ I don’t really want to know however, that’s just something I say. Everyone has something like this so I don’t feel too bad about it. Everyone has something or other that they say. ‘Garbage thoughts have possessed me’, I moan, full of fake concern, full of fake guilt and fake remorse, but this was only ever another garbage thought speaking through me. Speaking on my behalf. I wouldn’t know what I really feel like anyway. ‘The dreams come and the dreams go but one thing always stays the same’ I quote to myself. But then I have the thought that what stays the same is probably my frightening lack of sincerity, my appalling lack of engagement in life. I feel bad as soon as I have this thought of course. I feel bad because that’s a hard pill to swallow. I feel bad, but that’s only because I feel that I ought to. I’m trying to manifest the appropriate emotional response; I’m trying to prove to myself that I’m a real person. ‘It may not be life but at least it’s a reasonable simulation thereof’, I say bravely to myself. It may all be nothing more than a ghastly pointless charade but at least it shows that I’m trying…