My Dreams Are A Stupid Refuge, Like

I Carry My Awareness Of Defeat Like A Banner Of Victory.

There Are Those That Even God Exploits, And They Are Prophets And Saints In The Vacuousness Of The World.

Life Is Full Of Paradoxes, As Roses Are Of Thorns.

Everything Interests Me, But Nothing Holds Me.

That Is My Morality Or My Metaphysics Or Me Myself: A Passer-by In Everything, Even My Own Soul. I Belong To Nothing, I Desire Nothing, I Am Nothing Except An Abstract Centre Of Impersonal Sensations, A Sentient Mirror Fallen From The Wall But Still Turned To Reflect The Diversity Of The World.