Putting art under water was clever. Acrylics that withstand brine and fish urine. Who would have dreamt it? Passports to every continent weren’t enough now. Humans wanted to be mermaids.

Not that the paintings weren’t magnificent. Not that the pulling it off wasn’t amazing. But as for who’d thought it up was just plain and simply “people with too much idle time on their hands.” Or was it idol hands on their time?

The world was simulated beauty with eerie ink swimming behind it. You couldn’t find anything gorgeous unless it resembled those vampire queens onscreen at night. Icily appealing. Shimmering. But where was all the incandescent light from? What apprentice from the deep was on fire with some illicit heat that flamed up fluorescent flares to feel it was day time no matter the sun be hidden behind the orb you floated upon.

A 4,000 pound elephant, soul-less as it tromps, also loves water. But it never dreams of drowning in it, to ghostfully chase its cinnamons and gingers among the waters which suspend it from hard life in the material world. What a parade of insanities before us. But we never knock them over, re-engaging the labor of living we’ve abandoned.

It’d be a comedy if it weren’t deathly hallow. Real little girls were starving in Ghana. Adolescent boys were shot for refusing to take arms for their State.

And we paint pictures you look at, while snorkeling vintage sea-beds, hoping the blaze on the beaches won’t be there on re-emergence.

To say our minds were broken was like saying an elephant was hard to lift.

Some dreams should stay hidden. Left in minds with over-copulating neurons.

At least let them sleep, until somebody puts out the fire.