Vater Unser

To Whom it May Concern:

O Fat obas, kel binol in süls, paisaludomöz nem ola

You are probably wondering: When did dormroom philosophizing become such a bad thing? I mean, Jesus.

- What if God is monolingual and the last native speaker is dead?
- What if I am a polyglot with nothing to say?
- Dude. Dude. Dude.
  What if we are stardust and we are golden and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden?
- Well, that's the stupidest goddamn thing I've ever heard.

E no obis nindukolös in tendadi
sod aidalivolös obis de bad.

Why don't you get that I'm fucking with you? I am trying to create new hieroglyphs but I don't know what they mean yet. It's art. You stare at it and you-- you curl your right hand on your chin. You notice your friend leave the room and you follow her to the next. Suddenly, you realize that this is your whole life. No, not suddenly. . You become an artist yourself but you-- you're not like the other guys, selling people's meaning right back at them. You give away meaning for charity. Turns out you're a fucking idiot. Meaning costs money; free soup is bad soup tastes like a church basement where they store the old King James bibles. It reeks of old world grandma and discolored leather and for God's sake, it's disgusting.

I saw the best minds of my generation. They trailed giant stalks of viscera, dragging on the dirty ground like keel back slugs.

Years later, he wearied of his refuge in opacity.
Folks, try the veal.

You are probably wandering.

Thank you for your time and consideration,