what's the difference between
a mea culpa and solipsism?
         good question,
another one of those socratic
deviations
that,  ultimately leads
into, a cul de sac
of bombardment
by facts,  mind you...
funny... funny how...
we became bored
of faking being human,
played the lesser dog,
flabergasted the gods,
and took to the responsibility
of Titans...
            by holding up
a matchstick as if it were
a 100 year old oak...
     there is a clinical sensibility
surrounding solipsism,
the antithesis of teasing the idea
narrative without a clinging
dead end labyrinth of
ideology...
    maybe I haven't met
a women to counter me...
neither did Kant...
point being:
poor schmuck ******
      and the laced love and...
the ambivalence of
womb-*****
       mirage of the two gay
fathers... love is love
and... I can't compete...
precursor warning?
thing that pays alimony...
with or without children...
that Schopenhauer "nun":
that became a Dostoyevsky motif...
alias Bukowski, ***-20th century
never the fathers of gods,
those vile breeds of titan remains...
double the children...
a ******* unesco project of
a hyper-real take on
revising drinking a glass of water...
people can't handle the heaven
in the version of
zebra... too many *******
unicorns...
people see the anchor before they
see the ship...
the one who draws the shortest
stick...
gets to laugh at the ones
"gaining" / "losing"
their minds with:
the "existence" of god
   is a motivational exemplum to
counter the proof thought...
    god exists as a counter
for the existence of thought...
shyness of θought....
                    and 'ere comes
the rainbow...
         no one size fits all...
karma Sutra for:
   those 12" Ghanaians ******
those 12" buttocks before
******* anorexic-coccyx...  
     and Sinjit's your uncle...
synonym...
     however the inexcusable
implant...
       god of the fungi...
   or:
              a thought an ought
a humming sound
surmised by a mmm-vibrato...
(trying doing the copernican W)...

thank god I am living the dead
cameo to
another recyclable endeavour...
   and yet, for all that spiritual
minimalism...
   my my... the opulent life.
  
     apparently petting cats
became a psychological migration
focus for: reinventing the point
of dreams,
      rather than a per se
interpretation of them...
        dog barks in the death of night,
I trust a cat who sleeps
more hours than he spends awake,
than a human who
asks for an inerpretation
of, a recurring dream...
    ******* dunce.