End of a World

It's the end, or is it?

Recently I've started practicing deep diving inside my mind. It's easy. Believe me. Just open your Reality oxygen mask. And take a deep breathe.
Whoosh.
I'm there.
What I find inside reminds me of Lennon. Remember Lucy and the LSD soaked diamonds? Well, I find gigantic cities, inside. they have porcelain skies, and  marmalade buildings, and naked men and women (what's with all these clotheless people, surely i'm becoming more and more perverted these days). Anyway as I was saying, the city portrays a happy, post-apocalyptic setting were the alleys are as wide as the the alleys in subaquatic cities. And everyone looks happy. Scary, huhn?
Comrade, it's not the time to be abstract and surrealistic, as losing touch with reality and putting a man on the moon is the same thing nowadays. I know, I know. But uncomprehending bugs bite me. And I can't even beat the shit out of them, after all, posha bole katha. So all I can do is search around the cities for some leftover liabilities. I could destroy the cities, and probably bomb the skies into million pieces, but no, instead I wait and wait. Walking in the streets is scary, with all these happy people around, isn't it comrade? Believe me it is scary, what with all these happy people chanting like hundred Jim Morrisons. Don't ask me what they chant, they're happy, free, they can chant anything. Anyway, time for my sedatives, so I climb out of the manhole and come back to Radiohead and Trigo.

So much for writing something fruitful. Sigh.
It's the end of the world as we know it, and strangely, I don't feel fine.