It all seems nonsense. Almost all, but even if you see it or hear or read it, it might not have occurred, or might have. Like nonsense, chasing tails, our own and others. Say what and when and why and how. And where.
These podium pill pushers are on mute now, their moose is running in sticky globs down their sunken cheeks. They are yanker suckers, in the literal and figurative. They are skeltons of cold meat, they have cold blood, cold brains, cold shoulders, cold souls. Let them sulk in global warming, let them melt slowly, warm up the electric heat lamps, loosen up the tundra. Let's play in the mud.
All the while, the people party keeps the party alive. Living, laughing, learning, loving, they know it's a scam, and a sham, and a shame, they're just trying to make it through. Nothing wrong with that, time is clicking and ticking and tocking and clocking. Hope and worry is pointless. Shouting '22, '22, all is fine in '22, like time doesn't even matter, it all seems nonsense.