Really Swell

As CA looked down at the ground, he couldn't help but project what he saw in his head, and he could see it just as clearly as if it was being projected. This was a talent of his. He knew of others who had sponges for brains, whose eyes would search the landscape for any trace of filth or indecency, and they would soak it all in, saturate that little sponge they kept up there, and when their head was full with more reality than they could bear, they would wring the sponge until all the shit came flying out of their mouths. A wider arc of disbelief than there was before. How worthless to only collect the things you despise, and even more worthless still to force them on unwitting strangers.

He wasn't careful about what entered into his head at all, he wanted to think about everything. The trick is to always keep enough clean water in your body to dilute the toxins that will inevitably seep in. In his head, which served as a recycling facility for what he had seen each day, he would sort out what mattered, what was beautiful, and what fascinated. Anything that didn't suit him, he tossed aside. For those who believed in rights and wrongs, why did they bother trying to keep track of them? Wasn't there someone waiting at the end who was already doing a much better job of it? Certainly the point of the mountains was to so distract us from good and evil that we might accidentally meander into neutrality. Why have no landscapes been canonized? These things he would hold up within his head, in front of the light that shone from his eyes, and he would project it out for all to see, so that they could know there were still plenty of good films out there, so many objects just dying for a private screening. His eyes are projectors of the most whimsical matinee if you'll only sit and watch.