Question man where do you point yr cane tonight? Who are you questioning at the end of that stick? Is it me with my mind full of hair and ears with wax? Will you break me in front of all these people? Oh no, gentle question man you point at that one in the corner to my relief. But surprise again this room is full of me's and every face has a hairy face like mine. What am I afraid of? "What is yr name?" The first question. My answer becomes, "I am myself, who are you?" "Question man asks, does not answer. Where did you come from?" "I came from my mother's womb." "Where are you going?" "To the grave." "How long will it take to get there?" "A lifetime." "You have been set free. Go do what you have to do." "Thank you," I say but I'm not sure why I've said it. I'm not sure why I said anything. It's always best to be tight lipped and when they do get pried apart to speak only in riddles. That way it throws them off yr scent: like a bit of meat to the bloodhound. It won't rot. It'll surely get eaten by scavengers. Ahh, but the scavengers can't be blamed. They're just doing their job in life: nothing more nothing lesss. Nothing is anything more than what it is... and yet everything is everything. And I can make sweeping statements like that because soon all this will get swept away like particles under the rug. The milky way is a dust bunny. We aren't even as big as molecules.