A Sudden Gust: How Big The World

All The Repetitions In The Pattern Were Superficial; The Moment Was Always New. It Had To Be Lived, And Then The Next Moment Embraced As It Arrived.

I Think The Us Is In A Terrible State Of Denial. Worse Than That, We Seem To Be Caught In A Kind Of Gotterdammerung Response: We'd Rather Have The World Go Down In Flames Than Change Our Lifestyle Or Admit We're Wrong.

We All Have Secret Lives. The Life Of Excretion; The World Of Inappropriate Sexual Fantasies; Our Real Hopes, Our Terror Of Death; Our Experience Of Shame; The World Of Pain; And Our Dreams. No One Else Knows These Lives. Consciousness Is Solitary. Each Person Lives In That Bubble Universe That Rests Under The Skull, Alone.

One Of The Chief Features Of Incompetence Was An Inability To See It In Oneself.

How Was It That Destruction Could Be So Beautiful? Was There Something In The Scale Of It? Was There Some Shadow In People, Lusting For It? Or Was It Just A Coincidental Combination Of The Elements, The Final Proof That Beauty Has No Moral Dimension?