Somewhere on the road to McDonald’s Leppington.

-Damn, son. This is giving my soul a little bit of a headspin. Like smoking a cigarette on a foreign rooftop at night after a really good day when you don’t ordinarily smoke. Pretty hard to dig that sort of feeling up on an average day, am I right?

-Yeah but some people have the magic touch, you know. It’s like they can divine that feeling out of the dirt.

-Your gurus and Buddhist monks and the like-

-Nah nah, I’m talking about the autists watching their trains. The port-drinker seeing stars. The freaks. The loners wandering around at unsociable hours. They understand what it takes.

The methods of destruction we exact upon our bodies will be merciless and absolute. A complete excision of emotional errata, bodily need, and unwanted self-consciousness. Nothing will be left but the pure feeling of being in space. We will never be embarrassed or regret ourselves again. Shame will not exist. The feeling of living will be that of looking at a featureless horizon of bright ocean and no longer being in landscape but being of it. Moving with all that water.

-It’s not a constructive process. It requires sacrifice. But anyway. What’s that got to do with the price of diesel?