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Description
defined: A state in which the normal sense of personal identity and reality is lost, characterized by feelings that one's actions and speech cannot be controlled.

Mans' Struggle To Fit In By Any Means Necessary

The weirdness hit me again at the store today. I felt like I was nothing more than an object in motion in an elaborate machine with the purpose of entertaining some cosmic audience. It lasted for the entire spree and so I went with it and raised the bar of the production. I danced with my shopping cart and tossed super real, super red tomatoes around like confetti splashing on the floor painting the dirty tiles all shades of red and orange. I squeezed bananas out of their peels and smeared them on my face for the tribal war paint I needed to continue the next act of the show. I ripped my clothes and took on a more primal posture as I began to holler in a foreign tongue only I could understand. The bread aisle was littered with crumbs Hansel and Gretel would have needed to feed all the birds on the way into the forest. It looked like white and brown snow flakes clumping together discussing who with to go to war. As I neared the front of the store the police were stepping through the automatic portals from reality. They brought with them guns and voices that snapped my connection to the cosmic audience and connected it to my real audience.

I was ashamed: tarred in banana and feathered in crumbs. Arrested I had to walk the gauntlet of snickers and stares reality offered. I prefer my cosmic audience because they clap and scream for more when the excitement level increases. Plus there's no such thing as a cosmic jail or hot leather cosmic cop car seats either.

Description
defined: A state in which the normal sense of personal identity and reality is lost, characterized by feelings that one's actions and speech cannot be controlled.

Mans' Struggle To Fit In By Any Means Necessary

The weirdness hit me again at the store today. I felt like I was nothing more than an object in motion in an elaborate machine with the purpose of entertaining some cosmic audience. It lasted for the entire spree and so I went with it and raised the bar of the production. I danced with my shopping cart and tossed super real, super red tomatoes around like confetti splashing on the floor painting the dirty tiles all shades of red and orange. I squeezed bananas out of their peels and smeared them on my face for the tribal war paint I needed to continue the next act of the show. I ripped my clothes and took on a more primal posture as I began to holler in a foreign tongue only I could understand. The bread aisle was littered with crumbs Hansel and Gretel would have needed to feed all the birds on the way into the forest. It looked like white and brown snow flakes clumping together discussing who with to go to war. As I neared the front of the store the police were stepping through the automatic portals from reality. They brought with them guns and voices that snapped my connection to the cosmic audience and connected it to my real audience.

I was ashamed: tarred in banana and feathered in crumbs. Arrested I had to walk the gauntlet of snickers and stares reality offered. I prefer my cosmic audience because they clap and scream for more when the excitement level increases. Plus there's no such thing as a cosmic jail or hot leather cosmic cop car seats either.