I lament the loss of diminishing vision, but what is it I’m supposed to be seeing? I glimpse those enticing sights feathering along the breeze, dancing at heights just beyond my reach. They brush the tips of my naked paws and taunt my rudimentary processes of thought before I can snatch them greedily within my weak and vestigial claws.
For all of my conceit, I’m just a humble beast — a breathing mass of bones and skin not much further removed from the simplicity of paramecium — those single-cell vessels of contained little equilibrium, formed to eat and reproduce by transferring weight and water and information, dancing in the perpetuation of that quivering, living mass, to undulate and collapse amid the rhythms of the collective breath. It’s all a sea, this arid heap of waste — and you can’t help but drown amid the indifferent waves.
“paramecium”?! Dude, please remember that some of us is stoopid.