It’s a long way down into the rabbit hole Alice.  Imprisoned in her own dream, should she wake the king from his slumber and denounce its absurdity?  Wait, just wait a sec, what if he is the dreamer, and you a mere figure in his dream destined to fade into nothingness should he awake?  Who is watching whom? Or am I not just a part of his plan?  Am I loosing it?

Better let him lie.  As for truth, beneath the endless twittering weaving our realities are the discourses that order our worlds.  Or are they themselves mere fictions in which we seek asylum from the real?  Money, politics, law and order are nothing more than our inventions, our dreams… and in the middle we sleep.

Or not.

Outside the dream of everybody, drop into a zone beyond these fictions into a radical solitude where asylum is irretrievable.  From the perspective of this dystopian nightmare the lunatic is the most lucid : it’s the world that’s sick. Such is the irony of it all.  Flip the script that orders the world and hear the unclassifiable : the artist is the illest of our time.

Now, run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run! Beat time, listen again, repetition, repetition, repetition. Too late, missed a beat, missed the boat. Just another castaway washed up on the shore with a desert island disc and a hundred billion messages from the lone secretaries to all that’s insane.

Odditty