Over in a corner, one man said, “It’s right along here that I get all confused. Now let’s say that the gods were our ancestors, and that our ancestors are, let’s say, like food, then I get discombobulated over the two possibilities: are we like plates, or stomachs?” And a far corner said, “What if we’re more like eating?”
Those disinclined to take anyone else’s word for anything may develop a smaller though richer vocabulary.
Whilst standing navel deep in mud, watching his house float away, and having the winds pulling his eye balls from their sockets, this one upbeat, (or was it “beat up”) fellow thought, “As wondrous and fulfilling as it’s been to be the recipient of the planet’s weather all these years, wouldn’t it someday be nice to be where it all begins.” And the Great Meteorological Machine, sitting around a poker table with some chums, spoke up and said, “What gives with these guys with two eyes, they always think the center’s somewhere else.”
As he sat toying with his gloves, he said to his ancestoral, though childlike manager, “I’m telling you again, if I’m climbing in the ring with information like that, I wanna know that the fix is in.”
Planets do as they must,
stars do as they please.