"One flew east, one flew west. One flew over the cuckoo's nest." Children's Rhyme.
He was in a super-perpetual permafunk. The holiest
The Earth - jester tried to wake himself up before the council of unconnected ones were supposed to sever all ties with him. He had served them well -- never understood precisely what it was that drew them to him. One fine day, he found himself to be on receiving end of a lot of un-assumed beatings from the formless void-bearers.
He had thought a lot about how once he asked the other to try on the new things. He tried them on, and he tried them well enough for those things to be successfully moved on from ,
“Life has an unerring capacity to veer towards the direction that repeats most often.”
South of the southwest, he tried strong-arming the people they thought were not about that life at all.
Ah well, A man could only hope for that sort of thing, can’t he?