What really goes on around here anyway?  Everyone stands around 
looking normal, pretending they're real adults, smoothly functioning 
social machines, but inside it's madness, fucking madness, teeming 
psycho chaos.  Everyone's lusting for the impossible, everyone's 
nursing wild dreams.  It's just a matter of the extent to which they 
admit it to themselves, and others.   

I guess I just admit too much.  I should just keep the shell on.  Here I 
am: a normal man.  I'm happy.  I'm contented.  I have a perfectly fine 
life.  I really do, you know.  It's all so hunky-dory.  I never get too 
excited, no transports of overwhelming joy and wonder, no Eureka! 
moments of illusory or sincere discovery.  I never get depressed and 
sense the senselessness it all, the pain of the limits of human 
existence squeezing in on us like a vice.  I never let my jaw drop in 
amazement.   I never scowl infinite disgust at raw human animal 
stupidity.  I'm overwhelmingly unoverwhelmed.  In fact, I can hardly 
stop myself smiling my wooden Howdy-Doody smile.  What weird 
contortions of the soul?  What are you talking about?  How would 
you see those?  You don't have psychic radar!   It's Howdy-Doody 
time, motherfuckers!  Don't mind that radioactive goat bonking 
poor old Howdy up the ass.  Don't mind the chaotic emanations of 
your insignificant little consciousness.  Pay no attention to that man 
behind the curtain, or to the microprocessor in his cranium, or to 
the phosphorescent snake between his legs, wiggling and woggling, 
trying to break off so it can race over to the Garden of Eden and pay 
a visit to Evey dear.  Everything will be fine.  Everything will be 
fine,  people.  Everything will be  juuuust fiiiine…