Where do I land, in the cogs and gears?
I observe all around me, a machine,
turning, churning, grind, pop.
The tenacity of the hive-mind.

My presence could go forgotten
if it weren't for my pathetic attempts,
to connect,
to plug-in,
to that vast unconsciousness.

We are all caught in this "world",
This world of dog doesn't get to ******* eat at all.
They say, "Welcome to the real world."
This is the real world as surely as our fertilizers make the ground fertile.
And as surely as our "freedom fighters" fight for freedom.
No, this is not the real world,
and it never should be.

This is our false reality.

We are not who we are meant to be.

The Mother beckons us home.

These cogs and these gears,
they are not for me,
and they are not for you.

I do not land in these cogs,
I would not land in these cogs,
I could not land in these cogs,
I should not land in these cogs,
I will not let you land in these cogs my fellow being of glorious stewardship, charged with the protection of this great planet and its balance for all who were and ever will be.