Mushrooms In The Dark
By Alfred Lehmberg
Aliens, the future, the larger reality—that which makes its approach, regardless—tries to interact with us, still, though they are likely unendingly baffled (if not stridently repelled!) by our seeming willful insanity, obstinate denial, and obviously preferred ignorance regarding the larger sphere of that new reality [resolving in acceleration as these words were written and are now being read]!
What a miserable, unvaried, and dry as chalk dust sub-reality we inflict upon one another... What a crippling lack of depth we instill! What a numbing loss of color we endure! What a stunning DEARTH of ideas we impose! What a soulless future of despairing futility we consign ourselves to! Verily.
We are the mushrooms alluded to in much of my poetic commentary. We're fed a very thin (and toxic!) manure and kept as far from the light as is possible... which would be fine if we actually were an insentient fungus, but we're not!
It's getting harder for them all the time, though, and will continue to get even harder until they wise up and shut down the internet...
They'll try... they'll have to play their true hand to do it, but they'll try. I've a suspicion that they will be, and summarily vanquished... I digress.
Its base will be broad, its veracity will be solid, and its conviction formidable. We are not alone. You are not alone!