I awake at the asscrack of dawn, for I am the freshly squeezed shitlog of Cosmos. All that Cosmos consumed, took into Itself, and digested required a certain waste byproduct-myself. And everything tends towards disorganized waste. Structure and process are but illusionary fashions of the relative moment-the waste prevails. I prevail: the shit-heart, the churning chaos all things try to dress up for a night out at the theatre, for I am their secret (yet not-so-secretly despised) Master! All things devolve back into Me, all things are flushed towards me, until the Wonderful Day-that chaos drift of all systems-when nothing shall flush ever again-all the flush bandwidth being eaten up, you see-and that is when I shall back up into all things, vast and magnificent and implacable and definitive-there won't be a part of Me the sun doesn't shine upon-I'll stand revealed to Myself-which is all-as asshole and shitlog all-in-one-!!!
-and on that day-oh, yes-I'll give Myself the One True Flush . . . just so that on the off chance there is something more than a vast puppeteered shadow play beyond this perception of mine-an actual other consciousness . . . well, y'know, finally that speculative other mind out there will have something interesting to experience.
In any case, I entertain Myself, I entertain Cosmos.
BONUS: I also like cracker-based snacks. Like with a slice of cheese and a slice of ham? No need to get too fancy. Cheese cubes with the wee plastic swords will also suffice.
EDITORIAL NOTE: William is a solipsist.
