I am a dradle hanging on a Christmas tree in August. I am a screendoor on a submarine. I am an intelligent response to a stupid question. I am life without fun, dinner without food, sleep without dreams.
I am sex without love. I am love without sex.
I am a letter without meaning, sent to someone picked completely at random. I am an umbrella opened indoors. I am sandals in a snowstorm, and a rainstorm without thunder.
I am a day without a dawn, a night without a moon, a week without a Monday, and a year without seasons.
Purposeless-ness is my purpose.
