I am still trying to puzzle out what is "concave," and what is "convex," so that I can know about the mask, and thus determine whether I am schizophrenic. Or not.

Meanwhile, there is a different-one Science Man image, with which we can test our various brains. And that is the one down yonder, there to the right.

When you look at it, does it make you uncomfortable? Would you rather look away? Look away? Look away? Even unto Dixieland? Does your skin, maybe it crawl a little? Not far. But a little? Does your hair, it start to hurt? Is the ol' stomach, sorta churnin'? Has the breath, it gone kinda fast? The heart, now, more pitter-pat? Head hurt? Feet stink? Don't love Jesus? Do you feel a sudden and overwhelming need, for Medicine?

If so, it is possible that you are a trypophobia sufferer. Trypophobia, this is the fear of holes. It is a malady that, for millennia, went undetected. Until it was discovered, on the intertubes. In 2005. And now, it is everywhere. So that there are support groups, for the sufferers. And earnest campaigns, to rid the world, of holes.

The wrongest holes, it develops, these include those in honeycombs, crumpets, sponges.

Maybe this is why all the bees are leaving. Because the trypophobiacs, they are waging secret, cunning, undetected war on them. On the bees. Because of the trypophobiacs' great Hate, for bee holes.

Some of the Science Men, they say it is perfectly normal, to not want there to be the holes.

Individuals who do not profess trypophobia still find trypophobic images aversive, although they do not experience the emotion.

They do so because the configuration gives the image mathematical properties that are shared by most images that cause visual discomfort, eyestrain or headache.

Images with these mathematical properties cannot be processed efficiently by the brain and therefore require more brain oxygenation.

In a paper, Paul Hibbard and [Arnold Wilkins] proposed the discomfort occurs precisely because people avoid looking at the images because they require excessive brain oxygenation.

The brain uses about 20 per cent of the body's energy, and its energy usage needs to be kept to a minimum.

So holes, they suck all the oxygen, out of people's brains.

This oxygen deprivation, it then causes people to vote for The Hairball.

I have to admit that I suffer a variation on this hole-fear. And that is the fear that I will be lying in bed, at night, in the dark. And, suddenly, Neil Diamond, he will be there. And he will be singing, "Holly Holy."

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCmrEase3BU]

Not many people understand that Neil Diamond, he is a serious acidhead.

But it's true. And it is easily proven. Just take a look at the lyrics to his song "I Am I Said":

i am i said
to no one there
and no one heard at all
not even the chair

Now, the first and most common reaction to these lines, is that the man is a moron. A songwriter so imbecilic, inept, and/or indolent, that he was unable to rhyme with "there," any word but "chair." And so he conjures a word-picture of a chair, not listening, whilst Diamond, he is ranting around, there in the song, about having to earn more money than Midas out in Los Angeles, rather than in New York. When anyone Normal knows, chairs, they are not about hearing. Chairs, they're just not real big, on listening. Even when the babbling songster, it is not Neil Diamond.

But here is why we know Diamond is an acid-eater. Because it is said that it required Diamond four months to complete this song. And even that chimp, the one that snoozed in the sleep chamber with Michael Jackson, he could come up with a better rhyme to "there," than "chair," in four months. So, this inclusion of "chair," it was clearly deliberate and considered and intentional.

See, the simple truth of the matter, is that Diamond, he was pissed. Because, like all psychedelic people, he knows that chairs, they listen, when they feel like it. But this chair, it didn't feel like it, when it was not listening, to Diamond, piss and moan, there in the song, about being a king, but still having the ennui. So Diamond, he called out the chair. In the song. For not hearing him.

It is, mostly, psychedelic people, who know about the listening chairs. Thus, Diamond, he is a serious acidhead.

This is logic. Occam's razor. Cui bono.

Holes, they are rarely ever wholly good or bad. Duality, it is stupid and boring, and the holes, they know this. Holes, like most everything else, most often slide along gradations, on the "good" and "bad" scale.

Take the holes in the human body. There are a number of these. All are there for a reason. All perform useful functions. Yet all are also subject to various afflictions, infirmities, blockages. All can bring great pleasure. As all can bring fundamental pain.

The Hairball, it is well-known, that he suffers from a severe, and, at his advanced age, completely incurable, form of trypophobia. One that is, unfortunately, all too common, among human males. And that is vaginal trypophobia.

We have spoken of this before. The Hairball, he lives in mortal fear, of the vagina. He is like the callow boy of eight or nine, who thinks girls are gross and icky and have cooties; and their vaginas, they are terrifying yawning mouths, waiting to swallow him up.

All of The Hairball's public utterances about vaginas, they express fear, loathing, contempt. Thus, when The Mad Bomber needed to use the restroom during a pause in a debate, The Hairball, he writhed in horror: "I know where she went—it's disgusting, I don't want to talk about it. No, it's too disgusting. Don't say it, it's disgusting." When a Mean Girl, she refused to appropriately acknowledge his godhood, The Hairball was riven with terrifying visions of "blood coming out of her whatever." And, when The Hairball sought the ultimate putdown, of Zed Crud, the creepy, sinister vampire who is his opponent, because Crud had declined to endorse waterboarding, and various and sundry other tortures that give The Hairball's micropenis a little mini-boner, whenever he fantasizes about inflicting them on the brown people, The Hairball publicly derided Crud as "a pussy."

The reason why The Hairball, before recently restrained by his new masters, would stay up all night and pound away on his twit machine, is because he is every night afraid to go to sleep. And cannot get there. Without many sedatives. Because he is afraid. That when he is sleeping. The vaginas. They will Get him.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fxOrpnJ2pz4]

I recently visited an interesting universe. One where The Hairball, and The Mad Bomber, they did not punish the planet by entering politics. But were, instead, both of them, thespians. And both were in The Wizard Of Oz!

The Mad Bomber, naturally, was the Wicked Witch of the West. Here she is, melting:

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LUWASdci9L8]

The Hairball, he was The Cowardly Lion:

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ak3J5DayiCk]

Unfortunately, there has been some seepage, from that universe, into this one. And thus, here, in this universe, The Mad Bomber, she seeks to melt the people that she bombs, rather than melting herself. And The Hairball, he thinks he gets to be the king of the forest, in this universe, too.

No. And no.

I do not fear sinkholes, really. But I'm certainly on to them.

This began several years ago, when I read about a man in Florida, who was sleeping one night, peacefully, in his bed, when a sinkhole opened up under his house, and swallowed him up.

You know, there are actually a depressing number of things one can worry about, here on this planet. But being et up by a sinkhole, while you sleep, that was not one of them. Until then.

So I went into some tubes, and I learned there that Florida, it is known as "geologically unstable." Because it consists, in the main, of porous limestone. Which is a "weakly soluble mineral formed from calcified deposits of sea creatures."

And these sea creatures, they do not want humans to build stuff on them. But because humans persist in building stuff on them, anyway, the limestone, sometimes it gets Sad, and then it sighs, into Holes.

And this Sighing, it occurs with some frequency. It is said that Florida insurers received 24,671 claims for sinkhole damage between 2006 and 2010 alone. That's an average of nearly 17 claims a day. This means that at least 17 sinkholes, they pepper the Floridian earth, every 24 hours.

Generally, when a person walks the earth, they do so in the knowledge that there is no real chance the earth will collapse beneath their feet.

This is no longer true. At least in Florida.

And, as we know from Election Day 2000: as Florida goes, so goes the nation.

Then, right where that Florida man had been swallowed by the sinkhole, two years later, a sinkhole opened again.

By this time, I had noticed that sinkholes, they were appearing, and with increasing frequency, in many places other than Florida—all over the globe—and in realms where they could not possibly be attributed to Sad calcified sea creatures, Sighing.

Something else, clearly, was going on. And I knew what it was. Especially when I gazed at photos of these sinkholes. Like that one, there, of a sinkhole that manifested in Guatemala. It does not even look Real. It looks like a bad matte shot. From the true-life documentary series, Fringe.

Yes. That is what these sinkholes are about. They are Fringe events. They are manifestations of the leakage that is occuring between this universe, and neighboring ones. Like that universe where The Hairball, and The Mad Bomber, they are in The Wizard Of Oz.

This leakage, as previously reported, it is intensifying. And, as a result—could be—things may get worse, before they get better. But, they will, get better. Because, they always do. Alpha, unto omega.

In the meantime, we shall have to take the "bad," with the "good." For, although these sinkholes, they are coming in from another universe—so, too, did Prince. So that we would not devolve, in fear, the way of The Hairball. But know the vagina. As what she is. Among, many magics: fine, feisty, little red corvette.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WW2z2Nxqa2M]