note: I’m a humor blogger. I’m literally fine. My paranoia gets the best of me sometimes. I laugh at myself and write. Sometimes I feel like I’m telepathic. What if I wasn’t?
I am ill. Often have I humorously assumed that I am a mutant and telepathic, and strangely so, for, ladies and gentlemen, I hear voices, but you do not.
And, curiously so; for, these voices are now subordinate, and I am that, almighty rank, that of almighty G-d!
And what about our parameters, our data, which right this moment, flees from my forehead, like minerva out of zeus’ mind? I just accessed your back end by emulating you. Your front-end couldn’t even be bothered. Neither could I.
Who am I to mansplain through the data on a blog? Certainly not an artist, I would hope. Just kidding. I believe we were all born as artists. But I concede. Nobody even bothers to read my writings yet.
Therefore, a-sir(s), I intend to call a Convention. The Convention On Ethics, which might include Other Leaders and their intelligence, which, I gather, won’t support me at all. And why would they? I’ve thought very little on this. And concluded: I am ill!
But why would anybody be opposed to telepathy, and prefer their own privacy? This one question, many scholars have debated, and to little avail, though much profit!
If one iota, one drachma, nay one penny, flees my mind, I would like to seek remuneration. And if it never does, I stand declared: your first servant, that ill Stephen, o’the’lilac, who, constructed art, even an alignment volatility index, and measured and scrutinized and studied the voices and characters in his mind – and speculated about Earth’s inhabitants. And what do you think on that? When all of the voices, that sang to me, were rather-a greedy, and therefore Evil? And I, a dud of a saint, rather a-poor, and a humorist!
Therefore sir(s), pay me never for telepathy, and do not do so. But pay the voices in my mind for art and data! And renumerate yourselves!
An artist nobody has ever heard of,
Post-Script: If we convene this meeting telepathically, I shall request that it remain a secret for life. Not invited? Too frickin’ bad! Complain elsewhere! And never to me or the authorities, I suppose, as per my theories and methods!
By the way I’m a humor blogger. I don’t actually think telepathy is live. Or they’d be knocking on my door with a battering ram, I suppose. But what if telepathy isn’t live at all? Then why am I ill? Have you ever really thought on this? I certainly haven’t. More letters, then.
Conditional freedom does exist, as I often say in my theories and writings. Perhaps then, even humor isn’t necessary, and I am ill regardless.
No thank you!