So there I was sit­ting on this big ‘ol box, you know those kind that can fit a thou­sand col­or­ful balls in which you can roll around in and never be sure if a monster’s ten­ta­cle will pull you down under or not. Sure it’s under­stand­abely scary at first, but it’s also much more thrilling to dive head first into the ball filled void, so deep that the vibrance of ball col­ors all turn men­ac­ingly black and you find your­self in a state of non grav­ity, sus­pended between the robotic cheese mouse crazy house above and the bot­tom. Have you ever touched the bot­tom of one of these boxes? It’s not a place I like to be: gum, poopy under­wear, and bro­ken balls. It’s the end of the line, you know once you reach the bot­tom you are faced with the truth of that ball filled box, it’s a ball filled box, where thou­sands of small bod­ies have frol­icked inside before you. And noth­ing more. Nei­ther above the balls nor the bot­tom sat­isfy my per­suit of void, so i pre­fer being sus­pended; my imag­i­na­tion can ram­page and no one or thing can touch me except a slimy ten­ta­cle which actu­ally turns out to be my mother’s hand pulling me out in order to go home.