In the beginning there was guff.
And how was it made sense of? Apparently thus …
There was eye thinking eye a loan. But eye was ear too.
And eye beheld ear. And ear hearkened unto eye’s view.
And eye found it ear to eye’s taste, just as eye’s taste too mutually, and so eye to eye
agreed without ever asking should we be moved by this?
Of a certainty we could be moved; there was choice it seemed.
So there was time, but why bother travel? We come across one another all the time,
for it is but a smell world is it not, and fragrant,
not to say flagrant at times in its excess?
Or so eye feel it. And eye feel eye am ear continually.
And behold eye mainly feel good. At least on days when eye feel good.
And it feels there is sense, though whether sense makes sense itself who can say?
Or does any sense only co-merge with eye?
Eye sense of course that eye may make sense, but how does sense make eye?
Despite this uncertaincy, and that the likelihood of choice’s actuality remaining
questionable, in quest of some comfort eye hold in mind two fundamental rubrics
[in addition to adopting the conventional illusion of (I)dentity]:
1. I shall dwell in the house of guff forever;
2. I shall try never to underestimate the power of guff.