A subtle fear

There are meanings in numbers, like the code you choose for your combo lock.

There are meanings in the lines on your hand and the lines in tea leaves.

There are meanings in the words on passing trucks – meanings relevant to the very progression of your day.

There are meanings in television programs about the story of the world.

There are meanings in the mouths of comics about the truth of people.

Oh shit.

A number is a shape of ink, a thought from a barely-awake primate, with no more meaning than a pile of sand grains in a dune.

And fortunes on objects are no more real than the divine aura-energy psycho-babble mantra-echo from a towering idol to Christ.

Oh, the TV. What a perfect joke for the power of participatory self-manipulation. A sparkling idol like no other. And that includes the computer – the robot tricking you into the idea that your two-way chess moves have relevance. It’s only a game, silly.

The story of the world lost on the storytellers.

And the comics, like most geniuses, know their words are smoke drifting away from a place that may not have even included fire.

The funniest of things being a fear of appearances with no particular origin. The kind of fear that could land you in a nut-house if you dig too deeply.