This is still my stuff.

Some ‘things’ ‘mean’ things.

Today, I was in a place. I had spent some time there, engaged in activities concomitant with the employment by which I earn the money required for my food, fun and continued suspense within the realm of what may or may not be existence. I realised that it had become necessary for me to change my surroundings such that I might be in a different place, as the range of possible activities in which the ones in which I had been engaged were sited did not contain the particular activities in which I currently wished to become engaged, so I went to the other place. I used the world to get there; by sending messages from my brain across various neural pathways and through nerves into the muscles situated in parts of my body, I caused my body to use the device of a pavement to grip the soles of my feet in order to transport me, this existent, this thing, this I-don't-know-what, to the other place, so that my me might carry out these activities it clamoured so to do. That pavement, that grouping of tiles, that signpost for the valour of human endeavour in the face of total emptiness, meaninglessness and void, came, by dint of enabling my trajectory through this vacuum, to deposit me in my intended destination and though it had brought me closer neither to an appreciation of the ultimate nothingness or somethingness which we necessarily inhabit, it had brought me a lot closer to the location in which my desired activity was possible, and so I activated it. RESULT!