Mouse Clown Cars and Dung Beetle Sisyphus

 As Jim Morrison sang,
"People are strange..."
However,
The are even strange
When you're not a stranger...
They are always strange...
From the moment of birth,
Strange...
Just a bunch of tiny clown cars
Shaped like the folds
Of a human brain
Packed with tiny mice
Who are arguing amongst themselves,
Fucking and fighting...
Shitting and eating...
And the little brain shaped
Mouse clown cars
Run a whole human being...
They are the ridiculous
And mysterious
Control center...
We all have one...
It's resting comfortably,
Or uncomfortably,
In our skulls...
Buzzing, and squeaking, and rustling...
Reacting, and misunderstanding,
And succumbing to peer pressure...
Assuming, and accusing,
And presupposing...
Creating worlds inside their
Mouse brains,
What we might call "perception,"
That has nothing to do with the world 
That actually surrounds them...
I suppose we all
Live in our own little worlds...
Consensus reality
Has less of an effect on our understanding
Of what actually "is"
Than I would hope to believe...
It's a miracle we can communicate
At all...
Vacuum tubes all in a massive tangle
Sending cylindrical containers
Of information
To and fro
With no particular
Reasoning,
No agreed upon rules of engagement
Other than
Up is down,
And down is up,
Left is right,
And right is left...
Everyone drives on the same side of the road,
And they assume everyone else should go in the same direction
As they are going...
I, myself,
Have begun to stop caring
Whether I'm right or wrong,
Whether up is down,
Or down is up...
I find it scientifically amusing
Watching dungbeetle Sysiphus 
Roll his little ball of feces
Up that hill
With no problems...
(Yeah, yeah-yeah-Yoh...)
And I can observe the absurdities
In myself
With the same scientific amusement...
I roll my own little ball of feces
Up my own little hill...
My decisions made by the clowncar
Full of mice
About the consistency of Jell-O 
Nestled snuggly in my skull...
I'm no better and no worse
Than any other of the giant homunculi
We call humans...
Maybe there's a purpose,
Maybe there is none...
But we will strip each other
Right down to the bone
Like fire ants
Or a lion's scaly tongue 
If we feel threatened...
Even if there is no threat...
We jump like popcorn,
Our conclusions...
We crumble like dancing tube men
When exposed
Like fungus meeting unfiltered sunlight
After the cool, moist night
Enticed us to fruit...
We Crack open
At the slightest touch
Sending our spores out
Into the unsuspecting lungs
Of the forest...
It's all good...
Purposeless and purposeful,
Simultaneously...
As the Absolute 
Laughs in its sleep
At the quivering jelly...