Streams of data through your memory
intoxicated meaning
igniting imagination,
because who doesn’t love
watching clouds that are not clouds,
pathetic hallucinations.

“It is wrong from beginning to end,’ said the Caterpillar decidedly,…”
But your eyes are dotted and your teas are crossed, so it’s alright.

Graphs, plots and circles,
colours, hues and shades,
flowing arrows and mesmerising maps.
The data’s ready to tell your story,
the beauty’s ready to bring you glory.

“what is the use of a book thought Alice, without pictures or conversations?”
The i-s are plotted and the t-s are glossed, so it’s alright.

A nasty diarrhea of entangled buzzwords,
when the impostor syndrome would be your friend.
And you look, and think you see,
uncertainty’s gone, a shiny glee,
it is a dream where magic’s free.

“… a grin without a cat! It’s the most curious thing I ever saw in my life”
Your eyes are crossed because you squint, and it’s alright.

Another terrifying party
where an incestuous round of applause
fills the air, with
a combination of success and power, with
a stain of fear,
that the charm breaks,
that they know that you don’t know.
Exhilaration, unstoppable inebriation.

“You’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.”
Your lies are bloated and your bliss is boosted, so it’s alright.

You’re drunk with spurious correlations,
the Dunning-Kruger has succeeded,
it fills your brains,
and you ignore the few that mock you,
that shame you,
because you know they’re jealous
of your success.

“All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrab”
But if the eyes are dotted and the teas are crossed, then it’s alright.