I am just a tube, filled with smaller tubes. you can say I am an environment, a medium, a flexible sac of goo. Everything I think or experience is a byproduct of my tube function, of the various types of muck that happen to flow through it; a babbling stream of language gurgling into my eartube and sloshing through the festering sponge of my brain goo, mixing and dissolving, maybe half heard or remembered while my eyetubes suck in another wash of colours and shapes and other visual muck. nothing sticks around, any residue just ferments and morphs and congeals with all the old muck, sometimes spewing out of my mouth and throat in a verbal bile, or an expressive twitch of an appendage or a muscle, maybe the small tubes in my guts feel it, not understanding any more than the electronic series of tubes the internet understand this nonsense. no matter, its all just food for some other tubes to ingest and process and shit over and over in that potent medium we all slosh about in, just more movement through the mix.


The only unhealthy tube is one that is closed at one end.