I've been found out, it seems. The winds of change blew and you followed. The apple fell from a tree, like it always had been always falling, but now it's your head, and nevermind other people's recalling of an apple hitting their head - you're special. You're different because you're observant, quick. You've caught the details. So when the apple fell, it wasn't just the brief moment of innocent surprise or a mundane performance in the business of living - it was God speaking through the apple - it was the internal image of change. It's large bloody moon eyes blinking back in the black of your brain. The big mind picture. And it implored, again and again and again, with repeated insistence - take me seriously. This means something. There is ample meaning in anything if you decide it. You've found yourself here-and-there, it seems. Most things come in in-betweens. For example, the delayed response of mild pain when the apple strikes and the seconds in between that decided that this moment would not become a memory-hole. Even then, who decided? And even then, I have no appetite to pander to any ego, not the big bright red apples or the trees or the grey matter between them. So, you've arrived here. Meaning, all the trees must have lost their apples. Shelved them into the earth, heaps and piles and hills of apples. What colour were they? If they were red, you'd remember. It is like remembering the blood-moon large and heavy, like God's iris, peeling through the nothing coloured nothingness. You've arrived here with a shadow apple. The shadow is not yours. The apple is not yours. Youv've been found out, it seems. Will you leave it at the door?