The homunculi leave us nothing but a drab fixity suspended in the isinglass of a dude named Albert whose variety shop we visit out of habit. Every morning the package of peppermint gum, because we think we know what peppermint is and believe we enjoy its flavor. Every morning the local paper, because we might find ourselves in need of a public facility.
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Ed Desautels' Maximum Fiction 
Yeah, verily. The pedestrian comfort of our bland and automatic lives comforts us to no end. “Ich bin Gewohnheitstier”
As always, Dave, thanks for the comment. It might interest you to know that this fragment is part of a “catalogue irraisonné” (as opposed to a catalogue raisonné) an old friend asked me to write for an exhibit of his paintings a few years ago. The project was this: I looked at image files of the paintings and wrote a response to each. The fragments were published in a booklet distributed at the exhibit and were randomly assembled so as to avoid any direct correspondences!