The Slippery Sands Of Time

Diary entry: Hi everybody, I’m here at Kim Eel Dung’s Floating Fish Bar and Grill, it’s pretty subdued here, not many customers, a few couples in the booths, a bearded rice farmer at the end of the bar smoking one of those long stemmed clay pipes like they use in opium dens, and the gentleman I’ve been speaking with the past half hour, a Mr. Poo Dung Luck, an interesting friend whom I’ve known for quite some time, probably for half an hour, we had been discussing the Hegelian dialectic, Problem-Reaction-Solution, the opposing forces thing, the Third Temple, the Third Eye Syndrome, and the soon to come Final Solution, the Third Pillar, the Final Synthesis of the world, we agree that the time is very near for the world to invert; the paradigm shift that was written in the sands of time long ago when this earth was first conceived in the mind of it’s creator, we are here my friend, this coming spring will be sprung like that annoying alarm clock sprung when you threw it against the wall the morning after the big Saki and squid blowout you threw in celebration of not getting fired after the last employee evaluation because you still can’t get the hang of using the cash register, the big time of the end is at the door, when you answer it, will it be your time or their time, you better make a quick choice now my friend on whom you choose to follow, your favorite men, or the one who created you and can surely dispose of you if he is unsatisfied, Paulie and Poo Dung suggest you go back to the beginning and dig, back before the truth was buried under many years of lies, you reside on the top of a sand dune in which the sands of time gathered all their lies into a heap of falsehood you haven’t the time to sift out, answer the door, you have a visitor, and you will not like him, shalom to all the loved ones who went back to the genesis of time, when time was pure, when we were pure, before we became so corrupted because of our ignorance, well, Kim Eel is bringing drinks and popcorn squid, the consensus here at the bar is “Prepare, stock up, keep your heads down”, and as for your hopes, you may as well stick ’em in your foxhole, this is Paulie, out…


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