The path

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The neverland. Explosive diarrhoea of an elephant. It just branches and curves and comes back to itself. Flightdeck... Heretic... Damn it all. My feet hurt, I'm hungry, and my arm is bleeding, and I've no way out. Had no way in, either. That's what caused the other problems, getting in... Simple. It is what the faceless desire. "Telephone..." they say, gesturing to the worn-down tracks and riven ground, "Your interference will not be tolerated."

Your idea of fun is very, very interesting. Whip... Tong... Straight, squiggly, roundabout... Muffin... They do not wander. They dare not wander, and they do not know what lies beyond the border of the Madness. Sometimes, I will say things that make no sense at all, and see what meaning people make out of them. Sometimes, it can be quite surprising, indeed. Sometimes they are afraid. I toe the line, press the gather of my tippy-toes into the grassy edge and I wonder. It's just the interminable ravings of an unsound and enormous mind, I expect. Very big. Not very bright. Cellphone... Milk... Giants looming out of the mist, silhouettes of metaphors, trees, ferns... The shadows loom ever closer... Hitler...

"Muffin..." they say. "Mary had a little lamb..."

Life will be a lot simpler if you do what you're told. Whether they are afraid or not, even if they are indeed, and there is no way to tell without nosifying. Yo! Stop forwarding chain messages! I am.

I remain on the path.