Friend Chase, whom I've known for all of my life, let me let you in on a secret:
Here is now, now is good, good is God, God is who?
You sound forlorn. All the time.
You also sound happy, in a very backwards way.
But isn't happiness backwards being forlorn? Or is it ssenippah? Or is it just happiness backwards?
Why be pissed when YOUR life is so short? Make the mushrooms grow. If they do not grow, talk to the owl of the sun. He taught us how to teach. If he does not help, talk to the owl of the moon. He makes us love when it seems like we cannot.
I know the owl of the moon. He is I. I wept in a dogwood tree for three years, and I killed it.
I created death. Understand something, friend of mine. I created death.
Do you hate me?
You should. You should hate me more than you've ever hated anything in your life. Fear death, my greatest creation.
Are you catching on? I MADE DEATH. Do you know why?
Let me tell you a little secret, friend.
Before there was death, there was eternal summer. The world was the summerland. Do you know what the summerland is?
Everything is good, and everything is green, and everything that you WANT to be alive is alive. Forever.
And I saw the Summerland, and do you know what I did?
I started crying. And I flew away, because I was so bored. I lived in a farmer's roof for a while, and I grew two trees there. And I became bored there, too. So I plugged up the hole in the roof, and killed the trees. And I was so sad that the trees were dead, that I wept for three years. And I killed a third tree in the process.
I built a wall around the dying dogwood. To protect it.
And winter came to summerland, and I made the oceans with my tears. And my mother, the moon, pulled at the ocean. She made the tide, and made change with it.
I was happy.
Let me tell you something: this new HAPPY was a different kind of happy. The kind that hits you after you've wept for years. Summerland may have been good, but there I never felt such happy.
And thanks to me, you can now die. But also thanks to me, you may also live. No dying without living, and no living without dying.
This is something that the owl of the sun cannot teach you. He cannot understand it. People always say that owls are wise. Let me tell you that their wisdom is specific. Some are of the moon, my children, and some are of the sun.
Rationality and emotion are two parts of the same ball. Just like life and death are part of the same ball. Do you know where the ball is?
Neither do I.
But I made it. I made it with my tears, but it is NOT salty. And if it were salty, it would have to be sweet, too. Because that's the nature of my imaginary ball, who is more real than YOU. Who are you?
Answer this question. Who are you?
The English language is a funny, funny thing. It's so innacurate. Listen to the question I asked you, then answer it. Perfectly. Answer this: WHO are YOU?
Are you the sun's or the moon's?
I'll give you a hint - this is not a trick question. In fact, it's the only question that's not a trick question. All other questions were made by creatures who are living in a lie of rationality, blinded by the sun who gave them life. The rational sun. Who are you?
The sun can blind you, but the moon can leave you awestruck. Both are dangerous. I followed the moon, and now I seek only beauty. My friend, owl of the sun, followed the sun. And now he lives in a house he made of cut and sanded trees, and to keep out distractions, he built no windows into the house. He doesn't want to see the sun. Do you know why?
YOU never do. Only I.
The sun blinded him, and now He can only feel its warmth. In doing such, he made irony.
Irony is from the IRON of rationality. The cold iron bars. That's where its name comes from, you know. According to me. But take away the bars, and take away the cold. What's left?
Warmth and light. He is comforting, and he is a drug.
Many years ago, I reached deep into the Earth, where it had not yet been touched by anger, and I pulled out a piece of gold. I cut the gold up into small pieces, and created drugs. I planted one of the pieces, and marijuana grew. I planted another, and up popped a shroom! Understand yet? They are not touched by anger.
If you still feel pissed, I recommend you go out and kill people. Buy the biggest gun you can find; or better yet, steal it, and shoot everybody you see. Because you will do the survivors a service. Do you understand what the service is?
Summerland is still here, there's just as much good in the world. But I made it more concentrated in some places than in others. If you go and kill, somewhere an artist will touch the moon herself, and put it down on paper. And in the spirit of irony, someone will look at the painting and cry because it's so beautiful. Crying due to happiness? Even I didn't see that one coming.
I will leave you here. Feel free to ask me if you don't understand. After all, I'm here to help. And you're here to learn. I know it all.
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