A distant relative is also making Holograms. His life seems nice, but last time he ate a sandwich, did he also brave not turning on the usual podcast, only to blow his mind with the oozing technicolor orgasmic realism of sensation? Does he have 2.5 limes in his fridge by his box of holographic film, and a recent discovery of how well limes brighten any meal?
I pause on the trail, and realize a minute later a Carolina Wren, no longer shy, is scrounging and muttering in the leaves at my feet. I failed to find the Redpoll from the Bird Alert. In the bitter cold, the perfectly kind and reasonable humans are what make me want to escape.
I offer to pile your plate with truths deep and eternal, but you politely decline. Those recipes are easy to find. Metaphors are what nourish me.