It was Saturday when that omnipotent messiah clocked out. Many felt within themselves an off-balancing, a dissection removing the self from form, lobotomizong it, then returning it. Everything still fit together, still existed in its ordained position, but had begun to slip slightly. Now, ponder this shit. How the hell, with the world bending itself like no contortionist could ever dream, with trees forming mandalas over a sunset as fish walk downtown heralded by a moutain breeze, how the hell could one be expected to clock in at work? Take this individual, tired and bedraggled by a touch under two decades of sitting in a cubicle. His tie flipped an inch off to the side, faded by being washed too many times. How could he grasp the splitting-down-the-middle that spacetime was performing? Or the hotdog cart woman in Brooklyn? The difference was palpable there, the buildings were crooked at right angles and the steam coming from her cart smelled like a 1982 merlot. Is she just gonna keep selling hotdogs? Who knew if people even ate anymore. Shit, they were hesitant to buy dirty water dogs before, when the sidewalks lacked tumors and central park was horizontal. Maybe they're just going on vacation, maybe they got tired of holding cars to the road. Who knows, but now my steak is on the ceiling and my car stares at me unblinking. Simpler times beget simpler answers, but wild eons seem to just make everything clearer. Stupendous baby! This shit be crazy and wild and free! Times were rough but I never liked it otherwise. Boyo let me grab my hat and we can dance down the lane together, spin yarns in crescents over venus! Play hopscotch in the seconds between supernovae! Drink ourselves fancy, prostrate before an idol I made.