Wednesday, May 30, 2012

DEAR PHILLY: (ALL ALONE BENEATH A SEA OF DARKNESS)

DEAR PHILLY: I am convinced I am losing my mind. If they could only promise me good food and my own tv, I swear I’d just go and check myself in today. I’m too afraid to kill myself so I just go on, day after day, staggering toward oblivion. I can’t decide which I hate more, the sun or the moon. I heard yesterday that Ted Danson died. I fell to my knees and wept for hours. Of course, I did not know Ted Danson, but it was just the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. Well, I guess that’s about it. Sincerely yours, ALL ALONE BENEATH A SEA OF DARKNESS. 
DEAR ALL ALONE BENEATH A SEA OF DARKNESS: Ted Danson died! Are you serious? I didn’t hear this. Strange, I used to kid around for years, telling people that Ted Danson died. I don’t know, it was just a thing I liked to do. Man, that makes me so sad. He was just one of those guys that everyone liked. So humble yet so smart and kind. Damn. Now you listen here, bud, you’ve gotta snap yourself out of this. First of all, don’t go and do anything stupid like try to get help or check yourself into some hospital. Fuck that shit. I’d rather see someone kill themselves before they go that route. Look, all you need to do is just start a stupid blog that no one will ever read. Look at me, that’s what I did. Remember, losing your mind is the most wonderfully frightening thing you can ever do. Be careful with yourself. Don’t ruin it. NEXT! 

DEAR PHILLY (SPOON MAN)

DEAR PHILLY: Why do I need a spoon to get my asshole clean? Your boy, SPOON MAN.
DEAR SPOON MAN: NOW we’re talking! Thank you, my friend! You see, most people would read your question and think it was no more than a little stab at some Wednesday morning butthole humor. Not me. Your question is actually a defiant stance against existence itself. To me it speaks volumes about the humiliation and futility of human life in this hateful modern world. Last night I finally summoned the strength to get my sorry ass off the couch and go to bed, but when I went to turn the tv off, I accidentally hit the channel change button and wound up sitting back down and watching a good 30 to 40 minutes of Good Will Hunting. Anyway, remember the scene where Robin Williams finally breaks Matt Damon?   
-It’s not your fault.
-Yeah, I know that. 
-Look at me son. It’s not your fault. 
-I know. 
-It’s not your fault.
-I know. 
-No, no you don’t. It’s not your fault. 
-I know. 
-It’s not your fault.
-All right. 
-It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. 
And so I say it to you, SPOON MAN: It’s not your fault. There is nothing natural about modern life. We are most certainly living in the end stages of human existence. A state of fibrillation if you will (yes, I sometimes watch Arrested Development). It actually astounds me that our bodies and our minds do as well as they do. It was years ago when I used to have to take the L train into the city from Brooklyn and I’d look around at all the creatures, their heads bobbing to rhythm of the train, and all I could think was, “You’d think they’d shit their pants more and bite each other’s noses off.” I have been saving that line, hoping to work it into some story somewhere, but I’m proud to simply spend it on you, SPOON MAN. The more I live, the more I feel we’re just too damn hard on ourselves and others. We all have our agendas and if you don’t fit in with a person’s agenda, well, then fuck you. One of my all time favorite quotes goes like this: "There is suffering and misery everywhere throughout this broad land. But there are kinds and degrees of suffering; the worst, in my opinion, is the sort one encounters in the very heart of progress.” That was Henry motherfuckin’ Miller of course, writing about America sometime in the 1940s. Look, man, my nerves were fried at birth. Throw in a healthy imagination and a mere trip to the grocery store feels like they’ve got the big guns blasting behind me, the shells exploding like thunder beyond the beach. The fucking waves, man, you should feel the waves. It feels like the goddamn boat’s gonna crack in half. The guy beside me buckles over and pukes. I look over at the driver. I see him nod to the Sergeant. I grip my rifle and try to swallow. You see, SPOON MAN, nothing works for me anymore. A good day for me still feels like a bad acid trip. What I’m trying to say is that I think you’re doing just fine. You’re body’s reacting appropriately. My advice would be to drink more water (fresh coconut water if you can get it), eat oatmeal every morning, and just be glad you didn’t throw a BBQ the other day where a few of the people you invited you barely know, and to your wife’s horror, you began telling everyone how you long to be failed, devastatingly, knock-you-on-your-ass failed, but then above that, perhaps your greatest desire in life would be to have the authority to be able to investigate any man’s penis at your discretion. I really don’t think that’s too much to ask. NEXT!!! 

Sunday, May 27, 2012

DEAR PHILLY (GOD DAMNED)


DEAR PHILLY: It just hit me! What if all those people are right? What if there IS a God? -GOD DAMNED.  
DEAR GOD DAMNED: Oh fuck, I know I know! The older I get, the more fearful I am of that very thing. And if you’ve been paying attention then surely you realize that anything and everything is possible in this fucked up thing we call "life". Every single morning of my life, I wake up knowing only the following: I don’t know anything, I don’t understand anything, and from the looks of things, I never will. I mean I’m fucking 41 years old now! ME! How the hell did THAT happen? All I do is grow dumber, dumber and dumber each day. So anyway, let's say I somehow slip through those pearlies. I mean, fuck, man, now I've just gotta keep all this shit going? I've gotta keep talking to people, I've gotta keep trying to remember their names, ask them how they're doing, pretend that I care? Don't get me wrong, I really do wish people well but, you know, the thought of having to continue on through eternity with all this fucking bullshit,... I don't know, man, at least in hell I doubt you're expected to participate in much conversation. Yeah, sure, I know there's supposed to be a ridiculous amount of pain involved but after a while, maybe you'd sort of get used to it ya know? I hear pain can actually be a good thing if you use it right, if you're able to focus on it in some sort of Buddhistic type of way. Basically, I was really looking forward to just dying and everything being gone, totally gone, POOF, nothing but nothingness. I couldn’t imagine anything more lovely than to never have to think another thought ever again. I don’t know about you but I’m fucking tired, man. I mean, all these things we do, it’s just so goddamn degrading. It’s like here in a minute I’m gonna have to go upstairs and take a big shit. And then I’m just gonna have to wipe whatever’s left from my itchy asshole. It never ends. But then a little while ago, I was driving with my son and out of nowhere he said this to me: “Daddy, Daddy!" and I said, "What, buddy?" "Daddy, I’m gonna take your eyebrows off and we’re gonna get new ones from Target. They’re gonna be like Mommy’s eyebrows.” He’s just the funniest person I have ever met in my entire life. So, you know, it’s shit like that that makes it all worthwhile. So just hang in there. I mean, what the else can you do? My guess is that if there really is a God, he’s gonna be FAR more lenient than people think. And if not, well, then FUCK HIM! NEXT!!!!!!!!!!     

Saturday, May 26, 2012

DEAR PHILLY: DEPRESSED AND BLEEDING

DEAR PHILLY: It’s Memorial Day weekend and I’m depressed and on my period and it’s hot as hell and I was planning on buying an air conditioner for my apartment but now I can’t because I spent almost my entire paycheck at the vet on all sorts of tests for my 15 year old cat, George, only to find out he has some fatal disease called FIP. It’s just been me and George for so long now. It’s crazy but he really is my best friend. Poor guy, he’s lying beside me on my bed as I type these words. He has no idea... Oh, and get this, this morning I was walking down to the bagel shop and this old man in front of me drops his keys and when he bends over to pick them up, his entire package flops out of the leg of his shorts! I can’t even tell you how disturbing it was. As I went by him he smiled and said, “Now there’s a nice lookin’ young lady.” Ugh, why are men’s bodies so disgusting? Wait, that’s not my question so don’t answer that. Basically, my question is- So what the hell’s a girl to do over Memorial Day weekend when she’s depressed and on her period and it’s hot as hell and she doesn’t have air conditioning and she’s broke and she doesn’t want to see anyone and her cat’s dying and she can’t get the disgusting image out of her mind of some old man’s big hairy balls dangling halfway down to his knees? Any advice? DEPRESSED AND BLEEDING. 
DEAR DEPRESSED AND BLEEDING: “Halfway down to his knees”? Really? Damn, I can’t wait to get old! I suppose I should consider myself lucky in the fact that I really can’t say I got the short end of the stick but, you know, it’d sure be nice to experience the feeling of actually “balling” whenever I was balling. But enough about me. Here’s what we must do to rectify this situation. What you need is comfort and distraction. Let’s tackle comfort first. I think I saw those little 5000 BTU air conditioners at Walmart or Target for like $100. They’re light and easy to install and we have one in our boy’s room that works better than that beast of a thing we have in the living room. Get one pronto! Put it on a credit card if you have to. If you don’t have a credit card, ask a friend or a family member for a loan. You’ve got some real good pity points working in your favor with poor old George. Shit, I just thought of something. You probably could’ve worked an angle on that old dude with the dangling balls. Oh, well. Anyway, get it through your head, you need that air conditioner! You DESERVE that air conditioner! You’ll get it; I have faith in you. Now, after you’ve slapped that sucker in and fired it up to full blast, we’re gonna need to talk about distraction. We’re talking food, drink, and entertainment. Cool yourself off for a while and then we’re gonna go shopping. Don’t worry, we’re not gonna break the bank. But you WILL need the following (aside from tampons, pads, and Advil, pot or whatnot)- 3 bottles of white wine, 1 for each day, whatever your preference. You can get a good bottle of Italian Pinot Grigio for like $11 or $12. We don’t want you cooking so we need easy shit- chips, snacks, those Gino’s pizza rolls are pretty good. I also like those layered mexican dips. You’ll need ice cream or chocolate or both. Maybe get some pre-maid chocolate chip cookie dough? Basically just load up on all your favorite comfort foods. Remember, it’s a long weekend, 3 days! Okay, now, hopefully you have a tv with a DVD player and an account at some movie rental store. If not, I know you have a computer so maybe you can stream them in that way. Okay, so now here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna make a list of 20 of your favorite movies and shows. We’re talking feel good stuff here, nothing too dark. Then you’re gonna compare your list with the list I’ve provided for you down below and see if any of the ones on your list appear on mine as well. Okay, so those you can watch. The others are out. Between those and the rest of the ones on my list, I think you’ll be covered all the way through the weekend. Remember, my prescription for you is to do NOTHING till Monday night except eat, drink, pet George, sleep, and watch as many of these as possible. You promise? Okay, good, here’s your list:
  1. The Big Lebowski
  2. Pulp Fiction
  3. Raising Arizona
  4. Big Wednesday (Gary Busy at his best) 
  5. Anchorman
  6. Sexy Beast (you can stop watching after they kill Ben Kingsley’s character. It’s not funny after that) 
  7. Crumb (my favorite movie of all time)
  8. Baxter (hard to find French film about a dog- dark but hilarious)
  9. Baraka (uplifting documentary, especially the chicken factory)
  10. Vicky, Christina, Barcelona 
  11. I Love You, Man
  12. Tex (old Matt Dylan movies make me happy)
  13. The Outsiders (“”)
  14. Over The Edge (“”)
  15. Curb Your Enthusiasm (any or ALL seasons)
  16. The Royal Tenenbaums 
  17. East Bound And Down (any or ALL seasons)
  18. Goodfellas (My wife and I both find it funny)
  19. Sideways
  20. No Country For Old Men (Javier’s role is hysterical)
okay, so there’s 20 of my favorite feel good movies of all time. If you blow through those, just message me again and I’ll be happy to give you some more. Feel better. Give poor George a kiss from uncle Phil. NEXT!!!!                

Friday, May 25, 2012

DEAR PHILLY (FED UP)

DEAR PHILLY: Why are men such assholes? FED UP.

DEAR FED UP: Well, we all know what an asshole is but if we really want to get anywhere here we'd first have to break down what exactly you are referring to when you use the word, "men". But since this is our first session, let's just start with this: there are as many different types of men as there are names to the goddamn engines and whatnots of my son's ever growing Thomas The Train collection. I'll give you this- people ARE mostly the same in that they seldom venture out of their comfort zones. This is true in all walks of life. It's base animal behavior and it is necessary to maintain order. But, some of us need to realize that we are but victims in this work of nature. So if in every direction you turn, you keep finding yourself facing the same harsh walls, perhaps it is time to simply walk over to that door, open it, step out, and slam that fucker behind you? It really is THAT easy. But as the great Bukowski once said about writing, "It's so easy, almost no one can do it." But then we seem to always make it all so damn complicated don't we? I just watched the Bill Clinton special on American Experience. I just love how he used the line, "Well, that depends on what your definition of the word 'is' is." haha. And it fucking WORKED! Haha! That just kills me! So my advice- open that door, any door! And keep opening them until you find something worth finding. No matter what, as long as you're aiming for truth, in the end, you will have the only thing worth having, and that is your self. NEXT!!!!

DEAR PHILLY (DO YOU REMEMBER ME NOW?)

DEAR PHILLY: You probably don’t remember me but we were with the same agency in Milan years ago. You were always high on hash with that ex-football player dude that everyone was afraid of. You were always telling stories about your crazy friend Ron back in Oklahoma and rock climbing and shit like that. I remember you kept going on and on about how you were convinced your penis fluctuated in size depending upon your overall mental state and how you could gage how good of shape you were in by how deeply inset your butthole was when you went to wipe. That story about how long it took you to finally realize it was you that had been breaking the hinges on every toilet seat in every place you had ever lived because you were a side wiper... Man, that’s some funny shit. As if you thought everyone wiped from the side. Haha. I just remembered your eyes lighting up and saying that was probably why the left side of your back was always going out. Anyway, I saw you again in New York just a couple of years ago and even though you said you did, I could tell you didn’t remember me. It’s alright, man, I wasn’t offended. We were both shooting jobs at Milk Studios and you said you had gotten remarried and that you had a kid on the way. I hope all is well. You said you were still writing but had only gotten your poems published. Oh, when I told you I was a writer too, you said, “Oh, man, I’m sorry to hear that.” That was really funny. You remember me now? Anyway, I’ve been reading some of your stuff on your little blog lately and I think it’s really out there, man. That Skeet Giddens shit is crazy! I was hoping I could send you some of my stuff to see what you thought. I write mostly screenplays. Most of my stuff is sort of futuristic sci-fi/thriller type stuff and yet they’re also sort of retro film noir. But the piece I want to send you is totally different. In my mind I see it shot more like The Bicycle Thief which is my favorite movie. Have you seen it? Anyway, the story takes place in California just after WW1. It’s loosely based on my great grandfather and his two younger brothers who all three fought in the war. I won’t tell you anymore other than it’s called the Bricklayer. Let me know if you would be interested in reading it. Hey, also, didn’t you say you wrote a graphic novel with some famous comic dude? Whatever happened with that? Oh, and are you still modeling? I finally gave it up. I now work in real estate. All the best, DO YOU REMEMBER ME NOW?
DEAR DO REMEMBER ME NOW? No, I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you. It’s a condition I have. Please don’t take it personally. Haha. I DO remember smoking enormous amounts of hash and telling those stories in Milan. The penis fluctuation stuff is true and so is the butthole distance being a good gage for fitness. William Smith was the ex football player turned model. Edgiest fucker I’ve ever known. We’ve recently gotten back in touch with one another. He’s moving back home to Arkansas as we speak. He has a beautiful wife and a boy. Went cold turkey on the booze years ago. Unfortunately, I still wipe from my right side and have to replace my toilet seat more often than one should. The movement is too deeply ingrained and I can’t seem to make the change-up. I have a little boy named Henry now. He’s just amazing. My wife and I are doing fine. Still trying to become a writer. Yes, I’ve seen the Bicycle Thief. One of the greatest movies of all time. Still not sure what’s going to happen with the graphic novel. Probably nothing. That’s how the shit goes sometimes. Yes, I still model although I’m currently in one hell of a slump. I just can’t seem to care enough about anything to get myself going again. As for your writing, come on, man, don’t you know the worst thing a writer can ever do is ask another writer for their opinion? The fact that you feel you need to ask someone like me what they think of your writing tells me that you’ve got a long way to go as a writer. Besides, who the hell has time to read some struggling writer’s shit? If I had time to read, I’d be spending it reading all the writers I haven’t gotten around to reading yet. Time’s running out for all of us. It’s a goddamn conveyer belt and all of sudden it’s us at the end of it, waiving goodbye as we flop right over the edge. I thank you for your comments on MY writing though. I’m especially glad you like Skeet. He’s rather dear to my heart. I’ve been meaning to get back to writing that shit again. Hey, actually, I’ve just started writing some new shit and I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. Would you be willing to take a look at it? No pressure. I was just hoping to get a different opinion on it? If not, no worries as again, I'm certainly not going to read your shit. But let me know. 


p.s. Real estate! For real?

     

DEAR PHILLY (NEEDING TO BE FUCKED)

DEAR PHILLY: I am a Jewish woman in my early 30s. I am on my second marriage. My first husband was not Jewish, which was a terrible disappointment to my parents. He was Irish. He was both physically and emotionally abusive from the beginning. He was a large, intimidating man. A raging alcoholic painter. I stayed with him for far too long. What can I say? He just had this thing over me, this sexual control. I can’t explain it. I craved his intensity, his mind, his soul, his body. He’s actually quite famous now. My new husband... well, he couldn’t be more opposite. He’s just so kind and gentle. He’s a computer programmer. “The nicest guy you’ll ever meet,” people are always saying. And to my parent’s delight, he’s Jewish. Anyway, we have only been married for a little over a year and well, to be honest, I am already repulsed by the man. I don't even know where to begin. For instance, he picks his nose continually. He does it right in front of me. It's like I'm not even there. When he gets a booger, he will roll it around endlessly between his thumb and forefinger. It's disgusting. Whenever I say anything, whenever I ask him about it, I kid you not, he will look right at me while he's still rolling the thing around and he'll say, "I’m not picking my nose, I’ve just got all this dry skin up there." Oh, and he's always playing with himself. I'll look over while we're watching tv and it's like he's in some sort of trance, like he doesn't even realize he's doing it. I mean, you know, I get it, I know how men are, but this is different. I don't know, the way he plays with himself, it's... well, it's just not normal. He does it with just one finger, like he sort of flicks at it. I don’t even think he has an erection when he does it. It’s like some sort of comfort thing. He looks like a little girl discovering herself. 
He doesn’t drink, which is good I guess. He drinks tea at night. I don’t know, what sort of man drinks tea? He drinks it with tons of milk and sugar, the way his mother used to make it for him. Ugh... I don’t know why it makes me so sick. I’d almost rather him drink whisky like my ex husband. Anyway, all this is beside the point. Oh, I guess I’ll just come right out and say it. Please pardon my vulgarity here but there's just no other way to say it: He doesn’t fuck me. I mean, we have sex but he doesn’t FUCK ME. You know what I mean? My first husband used to slay me. God, I miss it so much. I’ve tried everything. I tell him I’ll do anything, I’ll try anything. The other day I even asked him to fuck me in my ass and he couldn’t even do it. I finally convinced him to try, that it was okay, but then he lost his erection. I was only doing it for him. I mean, my first husband would beg me all the time to let him fuck me in the ass. But he had a HUGE penis! Too big in fact. I mean you should’ve seen that thing. It was enormous. He would get angry at me because I couldn’t really give him head. I would try but my jaw would ache for days. My new husband..., I wouldn’t say his penis is tiny. Well, yeah, yeah, I guess I would. It’s just this skinny little thing. It’s all crooked too, and it arches up like a turkey neck. Well, more like a chicken neck. Haha. And then he’s got these strange little hairs growing beneath the tip. But I don’t even care about any of that. If he would just fuck me with it, I would be fine. I’m in my 30s now! I can’t imagine going through life never getting fucked again. I mean, I really do love him. Like I said, he’s kind and gentle. He’s smart and understanding. But sometimes a woman needs to be fucked! What can I do to get him to fuck me? Do you have anything to say on the matter? If he’d just fuck me, I think I could overlook all the other stuff. Yours truly, NEEDING TO BE FUCKED.
DEAR NEEDING TO BE FUCKED: Mazel Tov! 

Thursday, May 24, 2012

MY VERY FIRST ENTRY IN MY ADVICE COLUMN:

DEAR PHILLY: I am becoming rich and ever more shallow, what is your advice? ASSFUCK.


DEAR ROBERT LITTLEJOHN, I MEAN, ASSFUCK: Drink at least one glass of FRESH young coconut water per day. Buy it as a whole coconut and crack that sumbitch open. Get some good dried greens like Green Vibrance. Drink that first thing in the morning. Aside from fruits and vegetables, eat mostly wild salmon, organic fresh from the farm eggs, and only eat grass fed, local, humanely raised beef- especially great are Scottish Belty (sp?) cattle. Hike at night with a headlamp. Get some Tibetan monk chant music and listen to that early in the mornings like 3:30 am while you breathe and stretch, sort of like yoga but without instruction. Feel your way through it and empty your mind. Don't worry how stupid you look. Now, most important, watch nothing but gruesome death on the internet- disasters, suicides, suicide bombings, war footage, starvation, car crashes, mutilations, animal maulings, scenes from the holocaust... Then, in this order, read Celine's, Journey To The End Of The Night, then Death On The Installment Plan, then move on to anything by Henry Miller and then onto Bukowski, maybe Ham On Rye or Women. Read these straight through, back to back, a good 30-40 pages a night. After that, message me again and we'll get to the good stuff. Good Luck ASSFUCK. Shit, I almost put a comma there!

DEAR PHILLY (UTTERLY BAFFLED)

DEAR PHILLY: My wife left me over a year ago and I’ve recently lost yet another job. I don’t understand anything. When I say ‘anything’, I mean, I literally can’t think of a single thing that makes any sense to me anymore. I find myself mesmerized by the strangest things- a smudge on the wall, a dead fly, the black stuff under my toenails. I believe in nothing. I still see the beauty in the world, more so now than ever actually, but I know beauty is the greatest trick of them all, and always at the expense of enormous pain. People terrify me. I feel at any moment they’re going to turn and bite my face off. I still lust after women but I just don’t have the energy to get involved with them the way you must in order to sleep with them. I thought I was an alcoholic but I quit drinking almost 3 months ago and I feel even worse. I even started exercising and eating right. I now see women noticing me again which just makes me angry because they’re just as superficial as men. I don’t know what I’m asking you to tell me. I know I can't be helped. I’m just glad I never had kids. Thanks, UTTERLY BAFFLED.

DEAR UTTERLY BAFFLED: This is the most refreshing message I have ever received! I should be coming to YOU for advice. You’re right, you CAN’T be helped. I DO think you might be an artist, perhaps a writer. Of course, then you’d REALLY be fucked! Good luck, my friend. Go back to drinking and listen to lots of John Prine. Perhaps just save up and hire a prostitute from time to time. Your boy, Philly.

p.s. Ever thought of getting a cat? Cats are wonderful medicine for the unfit.”
 ·  · 20 minutes a

Sunday, May 6, 2012

How Bad It Is

Came home last night from our first night out together in a very long time. Sarah paid the babysitter while I heated up some left-over pizza. The babysitter left and Sarah got herself one of her chocolate chip cookies she had made earlier in the day. We flipped on the TV. It was SNL. Seth Meyers was doing the news. Sarah pointed the changer at him and I said, "No, wait wait wait, leave it. Let's see how bad it is." Seth read something off the teleprompter. The audience laughed. I looked over at Sarah and she looked at me. We looked back at the TV. Seth was leaning on an elbow, smirking at us. He then shuffled his papers and swiveled around in his chair. Sarah ate her cookie. I ate my pizza. Seth said something else and the audience laughed.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

The TAO TE CHING Revised

On the morning of August 16th, 2023, in the southwest corner of Oklahoma, two teenage brothers who were hunting for rattlesnakes discovered in a small opening beneath a formation of large granite boulders, a piece of flattened bronze with ancient Chinese symbols inscribed into it. Scholars now believe this to be the final poem of the Tao Te Ching, The Book Of The Way And Its Virtue. The piece date
s back to the Chou dynasty around 1100 B.C. and the bronze can be traced back to an area of the Yellow River in north central China. So much speculation surrounds this artifact that only now has it been translated and published in English by Gordon And Busket. Dr. C.B. Wootinflaurt’s recent translation of the Tao Te Ching is the first to include the poem. Dr. Wootinflaurt theorized that the poem must’ve been so controversial at the time and out of step with the rest of the teachings of the Tao that at some point, a king, most likely a Chou king, must have banned it all together. “It was basically a slap in the face to all the other teachings,” said the Dr. in our interview. The artifact is the only known documentation of what is now called Poem # 82. I asked Dr. Wootinflaurt if he had a theory as to why and how the artifact wound up in Oklahoma. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. Here is the English translation of the passage:

82
And now that we know the Way
We know the Way to also be not
Is the Way not the Way because
There is no Way because why?

Because there is no because
Because there is no Way
Because. Because why?

If there is no Way there is no Way

Are we not between the Way
And other Ways we do not know?
Will we not then be between others?
Are we not dreamers in a dream
That we have not awakened from?

If we awaken, are we not awake
From the dream we must dream
To be dreamers of the dream?

If we know that the fish knows not
That he is a fish
If we know that the sky knows not
That it is the sky
How then do we pretend to know
What we ourselves are?
Are we not what we are
Only because we know
Not what we are?

The Way is not the Way
Because there is no Way
Because there is no Way
There is no other Way