This node is a mushroom atop Salvador Dali's head. I'm sorry you have to read it. This piece of toast is cut into an S for "I'm sorry" and it is sitting atop Salvador Dali's head and the mushroom is sitting atop the toast. Salvador Dali smiles at you convincingly. His mustache is waxed. The sun (cooking the toast) is melting the wax from his mustache and Salvador Dali's mustache is blowing in the wind. It is getting longer as Salvador Dali smiles harder. It is as long as his smile. Salvador Dali's mustache is the answer. Someone hits Salvador Dali over the head with a yellow-paint-spattered baseball bat inscribed with the letters NFFNSNC. Men in wicker masks drag Salvador Dali over to the crocodile pit and he is expelled from the movement for reading scraps of paper drawn from a hat. The hat sits atop the son of man's head. The son of man turns his face away from the apple and bends over and vomits into a commode. There is a flash of lightning and the buildings are on fire. The world is burning. The mushroom has abandoned you. Garfield intones the unholy invocation, rings the bell, closes the book, and extinguishes the candle. Demons in the shape of men line the skies, queued on infinite invisible moving sidewalks, sliding silently toward their final engagements on the horizons. The airport voice booms out numbers over the din of travelers. Bob Dylan smiles at you convincingly. His beard is waxed. He leaves his briefcase with you. "I'm sorry but please don't open it." You hear the sound of a blind man groping an elephant. There isn't time for a shower and a shave. The pipes don't work anymore anyway. All you have is the mushroom in your hand and this cold moonlight night of pines and wet soil to explore the entirety of human history and to stare up in awe at the inexplicably infinite and majestic face of God.