My mama said, to get things done, you better not mess with Major Tom

The lines of a pop song sang so long ago (or was it yesterday?) by David Bowie. Which leads me on, leads me down the proverbial road of metaphorical exegesis...so listen here:

There are worlds within worlds within peach pits and canolis. Absurdism is the refuge of scoundrels. The quantum world is nowhere near reality, but it is the stuff of reality. You are nothing if not waves of energy save solid matter. If you were solid, you'd weigh so much you'd sink to the earth's core, where you'd be melted down to base elements. Or maybe you'd be the singularity that finally blows it all to hell. But who the hell is Major Tom, then: a gollum in the gears?; a manifestation of the grim reaper?; somebody who used to sell Mr. Bowie yummy chocolate ice cream drumsticks?

Regardless! The time is now. And even though time is a ball of wax being chewed on by a termite ... who's choking on the splinters, it's all we've got. And my mind goes back to a girl I met so long ago ... who told me E=MC2 is actually saying that matter not only has the potential to create energy, but it is, in fact, ENERGY ITSELF!

What a waste to end up on the ash heap after so many obscure and tawdry travails. Therefore, Major Tom has opted to hang out in heaven's, putting off the inevitable with zero gravity and junk, thereby hitting the lyrically absolute 'all time low'. Fuck the junk! Fate favors the bold, not the somnambulant. Dig? Get out there and rock and roll the bones.

However, all is hevel. And resistance is futile. So on and so forth ... never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, give up.