Vac

Vacuuming the floor he looked up and noticed that he was nowhere near the floor he was working on or anywhere near anything else.
Pesky kitchen floors, the vaccuum picked up little to nothing that was left after his many encounters with cooking.
It wasn't that he liked to cook, but more like he liked to eat.
On this particular excursion out into the kitchen with the sucking machine he entered what some might call a more accurate state of being, having woken up to his true situation somewhere spinning in a vortex, alone again, but without the hampering idea of other people nearby.
And then it came back to him. His spinning. His vortex. His place where he no longer lied to himself.
"Are you dead?" She asked.
"I've been asking myself that for quite a long time." He was in a state of utter ecstacy, but unable to have any sort of free will at all.
Not bad.
Just let me fish.
Just let me fish.
Just let me fish.
Thousands of years ago, he sat in an Photoshopping glass and broke pictures down to random objects, but them together, like a DJ sampling music and then delicately smudged them into other symbols.
That's what humans do.
And here he was and she was asking if he was dead. And in a way he was, but more precisely, he had been smudged/sampled into something else.
"Can you go back?" She asked.
"No."
"Then you're dead."
"Dead to those that live."
"But then what is the difference?"
"Probably none. Are you able to go back?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm dead. Come back when you can't go back and I'll probably seem alive."
"That's an interesting way of looking at it." She looked up at him as he continued to spin in the vortex.
"How did you get here?"
"I'm a tourist."
"Must be nice."
"I thought I'd see dragons and halos and God."
"I'm sorry."
"It's OK."
"I could stand to lose a few." The man looked down at himself.
"You look like a real person."
"Because I'm flawed?"
"I guess."
"Isn't that the way."
"It is."
He continued vaccuuming and forgot about the whole exchange and never realized he was floating around in a vortex.
She kept speaking to him and realized that he was gone - making vaccuuming gestures with his hand.
"You're here. You're not there." She tried her best and soon she too disappeared back to where she came from.

"Where do we come from?" He asked.
"We come from where we're not. That is how the universe is." The old Zen master or whatever fucking thing you want to call him said.
"That's very cryptic." He answered.
"You put a puzzle together and hang it on the wall and people call it tacky."
"Uh, huh."
"You tell them that it was put together from billions of pieces and they decide it's cryptic or art or genius."
"Uh, huh."
"But it's still fucking tacky."
"Is that the way of life?"
"No, but it's the way of man." And then the Zen master, bullshit artist farted.