EDIBLE DIRT

Melvin was reading that, according to Nietzsche, 'free-will' is a bullshit guilt-trip concept invented by idiots to make themselves feel guilty all the time and hate anybody who steps on their toes. But the phrase is something more along the lines of 'impute guilt', thought Melvin, feeling guilty about how he'd paraphrased his fav. philosopher, who he idolized above all stupidities ever. In point of case in fact, he was just now making a nifty new leather binding for that indispensible classic of yore, 'Twilight of the Idols'. Ahhh the refreshing gusts of bullshit-bashing Friedrich could hencerightly follow his e'r footstep through the miserably unenlightened world gefilled mit error-stricken monkey humans, dithering pathetic 'long the yester banks of mental destitution. Take for one the retarded believers in things that don't make sense, Melvin negotiated, with a furrow of brow, gazing out with dunkel darkening concern, with exuded genius, with perservering pessemism for the UBER man. Was the subject truly sublimated into category by now or was he confusing his geniuses? Wait - the retards, he re-requisitioned his thought gone awhirl amid the mind capsizing tangible elements of the external, indeed corporeal reality. Existence reasserted its Dasein-ness in simple water eddies, like those below the pier he stood on presently, overlooking the genuine Pacific. Mistake, again - forgot to concentrate on the likelihood of lost subjectivity - reified pseudo-consciousness, how could this enlightened farce register? Why was this artifacted hangman metaphysics not shattering the consciousness of modern being?
Ever the slight compulsion to dizzy from the Zarathustrian Elysian heights! But it was slight, and Melvin carried on upon the mountain of knowing. Knowing and knowing and knowing. And he knew. And he knew some more and then even some more. But he could see that down below, here and between the strangled rivers there were ant people, retardedly remaining idiotic. And he knew it because he did.