Women have become little Nazi’s and ethnic ghetto blacks simple minded demons. And for all intents and purposes these and other combinations of animated others as passing charters in a dystopian utopia have come down hard upon me to rob me of myself. Perhaps in societies of long past, now discarded, if it was ever so? My consciousness was not attuned then those former eras. If ever? I might have been there in any of them in another guise or I might have been a ‘not‘. To have been non-existent and now over the span of so many consecutive events since facing the very distinct, probable so I am told, possible inability to most assuredly, or so I am told, no longer be. Given that responsibility to clean up behind me and make sure to turn out the lights before I leave. Do I remain alone now that others have curtseyed with their own final bow. Is the chaos of the boundless so unknowable that it taxes my ability to recognize it within the ever ongoing burst of pure light? Is this not just a singular self-responding question of following the rules of an ever ongoing Simon sez? Why do I pose questions when I may already know? Ask those women in their fancy new mustard yellow garb of the hour busily throwing their weight around. Don’t bother though to ask the black demons as they are but old parsley upon the plate to this whole experience. My experience? Oh and the other ‘men‘? Don’t bother with them either for they no longer exist beyond an affinity of all things past and now totally useless. There is not longer any hope of a ‘we‘ left. Just this pre-pondering ‘I’ that, whatever needs to be done will at the final curtain, will see that the lights are no longer lit. Where it goes from there, well . . .