Korridorium

♫ Blowfish ♫

150/398

I enter the corridor. Even though I’ve just hit the snooze button on my alarm clock, unfortunately, my bladder is pressing. While on the john, it occurs to me that I had a dream last night that resembled a revelation. A man in an orange robe with a sort of mitre on his head whispered a sentence into my ear—a maxim that opened my eyes to the state of our world, to all the problems we are currently grappling with, and the tremendous opportunity that presents itself to us right now—if only we weren’t too blinded by routine to recognize it. I remember it was four words, and they rhymed: four words of unparalleled explosive force, a maxim that would herald a new era in human history, a new stage of civilization.

It was about the extremes of possible human lifestyles, I recall, and the entire spectrum of human expression in the world.

Fortunately—relief washes over me—I had the presence of mind to jot down those four epochal words during a brief awakening last night, sensing that I might have forgotten them by morning.

Filled with anticipation, I rush back to the bedroom and find the note on the floor next to the bed. In capital letters, there they are, the four revolutionary words, on par with Hermes Trismegistus’ “As above, so below,” Nietzsche’s “God is dead,” or Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream.”

But that’s the thing with dreams. I should have known. We’re not exactly at our sharpest; we often possess a childlike, naive disposition that gets excited about things that wouldn’t even elicit a tired smile when awake.

So, I must disappoint you.

The maxim doesn’t rhyme.

Otherwise… Well, read for yourself whether it harbors the profound illuminating power I had sensed in it, whether it is the conceptual gem that describes, analyzes, and criticizes our time, while simultaneously offering a practical solution to all the ills we have conjured throughout our history, encapsulated in just these four words: “Pope peeps, plebs poots.”