Love is the appearance of love.
None of us are meant to love.
Did you think you were going to go on Dick Cavett
And explain yourself? OK, where, then?
Privately, you would contemplate your jealousy?
None of us were meant to love.
It looked to me like George Harrison,
Post-Beatles, wanted to punch Dick Cavett in the face.
But even George was not willing to go that far to illustrate
The cunning misery of the human race.
The world is how the world looks.
Did you think you were privileged to know more?
If I told you, you had as much free will
As a ball rolling towards the edge of a table,
A table moderately lifted, and your motion
Is all you know of life and free will,
Would you start asking me about the table
And what it means? Is God a table, then?
No, you wouldn’t. You’d get what I meant, and that’s all.
So why do want to know the ultimate meaning?
It’s not for you to know, even if there is one.
Know the answer? You are simply not able.
None of us are meant to love.
You’re jealous. Do the math.
There is a table.