Love is what I thought I prefered to fixate upon,
But my brain stands on guard against lies.

I start this cycle at:
It's all rigmarole.
Equal and unreliable.
But something inevitably
"Rings true"
After a dream or something
I get inspired
Or I get confused,
Believe the rig as it rolls.
Embarrassment inevitably comes
To remind me how the rig rolls.
The boss of the Marble Marbles says,
"Nothing is real."
It's all rigmarole.

The fool knows
Spiritual progress through
Embraced humiliation.
Descend from the throne and wallow.
There is the nutrient, fool.

Maybe such a huge ego was necessary
To get the fool to ever speak its own words.
Then knowing itself a fool
Became necessary
To temper the ego.