BOOBAROOSAURUS SURUASOORABOOB

Maybe the axual boobaroo-whatever sighting isn’t exactly “true” — but what isn’t true is that the highway’s name has changed since the Fall (is that like “demise”?) of 1981.  It is now Interstate 84.  But some 36 years in the past, it was I-80N and I was probably delirious.  I was driving a “logging truck” (NOT for cutting wood nor devastating forests — this was an electric-wireline subsurface geophysical data-acquisition mobile-laboratory vehicle.  Basically, for highway driving purposes, a somewhat weird-looking slow-moving truck.)

I drove that truck many thousands of miles.  To West Virginia.  To South Texas.  To Spokane, Wa(r)shingon.  And many points in between.  And on this particular trip, I thought I saw the suruas-ooraboob crossing the interstate.

It (the word) HAS TO BE written back-of-wards.  Then I started seeing more of them.  The b-saurus “within”, and “without.”  Fat ones, thin ones.

And gradually a veritable hegemony of b-sauruses, of all sorts, and kinds.  (Of course, some weren’t exactly “kind.”)

Interpretation:  IF, INDEED, there is (nothing) ahead, then INFINITY (must be, and) is here.

Otherwise, “maya”?  (Like the Tibetan “Bardo” or “Sangsara” — the realm, the whirled, the not-as-real dimensions as those we’ll eventually experience).

The “B-saurs” (sesuruas-oor-aboob) are, possibly, everywhere.  Some probably have crossed the highway a long time ago and are imbued into the veritable matrix of what we regard as everyday reality.

When the sesuruas-oor-aboob are on the prowl, there are usually signs in the sky, like this.

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