Doubtfully, unoriginally unsure on the cliché subject of originality itself. Like music you’ve heard on the radio too much. Like the thing your lovers have cherished and you’re sick, sick, sick of it because it’s so **** old and un-fresh. Like aged socks.
Accept the illusory nature of your being and be a dingy ****. Nobody will like you! Feint non-belief. Beastly ignorance. Ignorance is ignorance. Oh blissful ignorance. The happiness of brutes or of the happy? No victory, but is there failure? A fundamental losing out? In any case don’t take it too seriously.
To Strain your brain,
Strain your brain,
Strain your brain.
It’s all in good fun. Nature of the game.  It goes on and on. The journey that counts.
Play for fun, fun fun.
Threes are there but who really cares?
Certainly not me.
Certainly not unoriginal.
It can’t all stem from the pool. Randomness is real and not and both. It’s inside us.
Do my words hold meaning? Give meaning? Does your brain? Or my brain? Them together?
Something else?
Coming to an end.
Don’t get too distracted.
Love is important. Because I said.
Love’s important. Unoriginal. Un-special. Nonetheless Grand.