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| Talking Story with Arlo |
You Never Really Die.
By Arlo Agogo,
Picture this: a shimmering dune buggy, chrome wheels glinting under a neon desert sunset, tearing across the sands of Earth with a vibe so righteous it could make a cactus boogie.
Why’s my ride the talk of the multiverse?
Because it’s the chosen chariot of the Groovatrons—interdimensional spirits of pure, unfiltered joy hailing from the planet Funkadelia.
These ain’t your average ghosts, folks. Smaller than a neutrino, these funky phantoms zip through the cosmos, surfing consciousness like intergalactic Deadheads chasing the ultimate jam.
And for reasons involving tacos, my dune buggy, and my paisley-clad soul, they’ve picked me as their Earthbound VIP.
Buckle up—this is a 1,000-word trip into the wild, wacky world of Groovatrons, Decayatrons, Neutraltrons and the eternal dance of the soul.
Metaphoric speaker of souls.
Picture this: a shimmering dune buggy, chrome wheels glinting under a neon desert sunset, tearing across the sands of Earth with a vibe so righteous it could make a cactus boogie.
Why’s my ride the talk of the multiverse?
Because it’s the chosen chariot of the Groovatrons—interdimensional spirits of pure, unfiltered joy hailing from the planet Funkadelia.
These ain’t your average ghosts, folks. Smaller than a neutrino, these funky phantoms zip through the cosmos, surfing consciousness like intergalactic Deadheads chasing the ultimate jam.
And for reasons involving tacos, my dune buggy, and my paisley-clad soul, they’ve picked me as their Earthbound VIP.
Buckle up—this is a 1,000-word trip into the wild, wacky world of Groovatrons, Decayatrons, Neutraltrons and the eternal dance of the soul.
Groovatrons: The Cosmic Party Planners
Let’s get one thing straight: Groovatrons aren’t made of stuff. No atoms, no molecules, no cosmic goop.
They’re pure consciousness.
Sparkly little vibes so tiny they make neutrinos look like beach balls. Home for some is on Funkadelia, a planet where the rivers flow with glitter and the mountains pulse to a beat.
Groovatrons are the universe’s hype squad.
They don’t exist to mope; they exist to groove. These spirits zip through the multiverse, hopping into fleshy beings like us humans, sprinkling joy like cosmic confetti.
Ever had a random moment of pure, inexplicable happiness? That’s a Groovatron hitching a ride in your brain,
turning your mental radio to Funk FM.
Why do they do it? Because the universe is their playground, and they’re here for a good time, not a long time.
Groovatrons can embody anything with consciousness—humans, dolphins, even that one suspiciously chipper squirrel in your backyard. Once they’re in, they crank up the joy dial, mentally rewiring their host to see the world through tie-dye-tinted glasses.
That time you laughed so hard at a Talking Story with Arlo Blog you snorted. That moment you ditched work, turned right, and spent the day surfing at the beach?
Groovatron, baby, steering you into a parallel reality where life’s a beach and you’re the coolest cat on the sand.
Why Me? Tacos, Buggies, and Beatnik Vibes
So why did these cosmic funksters choose me as their Earth contact? I’m just a 58-year-old desert rat with a penchant for paisley and a dune buggy that screams “1970s fever dream.”
But the Groovatrons? They love my vibe.
They dig the buggy’s chrome swagger, the way it roars through the dunes like a four-wheeled rock anthem. They’re obsessed with my taco obsession—carne asada, al pastor, even those sketchy gas station taquitos.
Apparently, Funkadelia doesn’t have tacos, so when a Groovatron hops into me, it’s like they’ve hit the culinary jackpot.
“Tacos!” they squeal in their subatomic squeak. “This guy gets it!”
But it’s more than that. The Groovatrons say I’ve got a soul that hums at their frequency—a mix of beatnik wisdom, quantum curiosity, and a refusal to take life too seriously.
They first showed up when I was cruising the desert, blasting Santana, and pondering if my VW Dune Buggy was secretly a quantum portal. (Spoiler: it is.)
They whispered, “Yo, paisley dude, you’re our guy."
Keep the tacos coming, and we’ll keep the good vibes flowing.” And so, I became their Earth ambassador, a cosmic DJ spinning joy for the multiverse.
The Multiverse Mixtape: Groovatrons and Parallel Realities. Here’s where it gets trippy.
The Groovatrons don’t just vibe in this universe—they surf all of them.
Quantum computers, those silicon sages of our modern age, are starting to catch on.
Whispering about multiple realities coexisting like tracks on a cosmic mixtape.
You’re driving to work? That’s one track. You turn right, hit the beach, and spend the day chasing waves? That’s another. Each choice spins you into a new reality, and the Groovatrons are the DJs, scratching the record to keep the beat funky.
They’re all about creation. Every time you choose joy—say, swapping a boardroom meeting for a sunset taco run—a Groovatron high-fives another Groovatron in the ether. They’re here to amplify the good stuff, to make sure you’re living your grooviest life.
But there’s a catch: not every spirit in the multiverse is throwing a funk fest.
Enter the Decayatrons.
Decayatrons: The Cosmic BuzzkillsIf Groovatrons are the life of the party, Decayatrons are the jerks who spill beer on the rug and start a fight.
These malevolent spirits sneak into unsuspecting minds, whispering thoughts of greed, anger, and destruction. Ever wonder why some folks seem hell-bent on chaos?
That’s a Decayatron at the wheel, turning a perfectly good human into a walking dumpster fire. Problem is, Decayatrons don’t last long in fleshy hosts. They burn out their carriers like cheap batteries, which is why criminals and creeps rarely thrive.
You ever notice how the worst people seem to crash and burn young? That’s the Decayatron’s curse—short-term havoc, long-term doom.
The Groovatrons try to intervene,
but even their funk-fu has limits.
Once a Decayatron takes root, it’s like trying to play jazz in a hurricane. The host spirals, and when they inevitably kick the bucket, the Decayatron doesn’t get a second act. It fizzles out, a cosmic one-hit wonder.
But here’s the twist: the Groovatrons believe that every soul gets a shot at redemption. When a Decayatron’s leaves, their consciousness doesn’t vanish—it transforms into a groovatron.
Neutraltrons: The Eternal Soul Surfers
This is where my theory gets wilder than a peyote-fueled poetry slam. I believe human souls are Neutraltrons—neutral spirits that choose to embody babies, growing up with them through life’s highs and lows.
Unlike Groovatrons, who pop in for a joyride, or Decayatrons, who quickly crash and burn, Neutraltrons are in it for the long haul. They’re the core of your consciousness, the “you” that wonders where you parked your dune buggy or why.......
--Chile Verde taste so good.
When your body dies, your Soul doesn’t.
It sheds the flesh suit and rejoins the multiverse dance, free to become a Groovatron, spreading joy across the multiverse for eternity.
You Never Really Die.
Look into you consciousness are you a receptor for Groovatrons or Decayatrons or simply a Neutraltron enjoying your fleshy life and family. Let's wonder.
Why do I think this? Because the Groovatrons told me.
Groove is in the Heart - Arlo
