"I am going to ask you a few simple questions. Do not be concerned. Just try to answer them to the best of your ability.

First of all, could you tell me the name of this place where you are now?"

 I responded that the places 
where a person was, 
were mere constructs 
of coincidence and arbitrary 
designation, 
and that where I was now 
was safely ensconced within my own 
head, 
where I was expected to remain, 
observantly, 
as all the other places in the 
world 
faded away 
during my silently whispered 
departure for a 
non-place. 
 

"Could you tell me what day of the week it is, and the date today?

 The days of the week have been voided 
for those who have retired, 
and months only count for those 
who pay bills and receive 
checks 
------or watch the lunar 
progression. 
As for the year, 
we recall only our first birthday, 
and we anticipate that date which 
will be chiseled into the stone 
commemorating our last. 
The rest only count for those foolish enough 
to still play the game 
of caring. 
 

"Could you tell me my name, please?"

 I could not have told you your name 
at a time when it still made 
a difference to me. 

Now it not only makes no difference, 
but it is clearer 
that the process of naming only 
serves to obscure 
the essence of 
personhood, 
which I am more aware of 
as labels 
and their declensions 
drop away 
from all that matters. 
 

"Now I am going to tell you some proverbs, and ask you to say what they mean to you. O.K.?"

"A rolling stone gathers no moss."

 In fact, all stones gather moss. 
For it is 
that all objects which roll 
encounter resistance 
which some call friction, 
and friction depletes momentum, 
eventually causing them to come 
to rest--------- 
and to gather moss, 
which is the life and universal 
anodyne 
which softens and obscures 
the oblivion 
ultimately embracing 
  us all. 

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. What does that mean to you?"

 A bird in the hand 
is never the equal 
of two in the bush, 
for Platonic ideals exist beyond 
our external vision, 
flying freely through the rarified 
ether 
of imagination 
into the creative skies 
of our psyches, 
and even into the mysterious 
storms beyond the 
edges 
of our power. 
 

"People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

 This is a strange and paradoxical 
notion. 
For those who are courageous 
and confident enough 
to permit themselves transparency 
before the hostile 
universe, 
should also be vigorous 
and bold enough 
to engage it in worthy combat, 
and to defend the beauty 
of transparency, 
and that which lies within the 
open gates 
of candor and 
revelation. 

(into a dictating machine) "Orientation as to time, place and person are severely impaired. Abstracting ability is non-existent. In its place we find intellectualization, digression, and idiosyncratic, personalistic, rambling misinterpretations verging on delusion. There is grandiosity as well as evidence of melancholia."

 (soliliquoy) 
All in all, 
the questions were simplistic, 
and the questioner was moralistic, 
opinionated, 
culture-bound to the most 
prosaic formulas, 
possessed limited imagination, 
was quite presumptuous, 
and fairly boring. 
He asked the same set of questions 
for days on end, 
perseverating to a degree which 
suggested neuronal vacuities, 
and I had the impression that he felt 
some power 
over me, 
causing me to wonder if he has 
the same delusive debility 
which afflicts most people's 
relationship with the universe