Ephemeral, unreal, only seeming genuine, a universe with no material. They could hardly ever continue to be tears of self-pity, they morphed pretty extremely into tears of grace, a god on your own in his universe drawing down his energy to see the rightness of just about every point out of affairs. Such is the electric power to lend fact to points with no compound. Rather than hope for the fulfilment of some deficiency, it appears to me it would be greater to secretly hope for the failure of just about anything to appear along that had the electric power to provoke a lot more than a marginal interest, but that if a little something did then to embrace it with the wholeheartedness previously devoted without a doubt to points of marginal desire. I considered if I cannot area my reliance in folks, then I would embrace what would not let me down, these as creating, in solitude. In actuality, to embrace failure only mainly because success is not essential, to fade absent from the two myself and some others as an assertion of the triumph of not needing to be human, needing no longer any of what it is to be human, and so, welcoming early the dissolution of human form, simply toying with it in passing states of surprise and awe, or dark forebodings, attached to no one and nothing in distinct, just floating clouds of feelings and forgetfulness sharply slash by means of by unexpected appears, the temple gong of remembrance in every bird's gorgeous and unpretentious song, with no purpose to think it will be any distinctive when ultimately these functions melt away in putrescence below snowy white hair.

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