One Cannot Pass By Without

I Think Words Operate Like Musical Notes That The Eyeball Hears.

Memories Are Their Own Descendents Masquerading As The Ancestors Of The Present.

The Uncreated And The Dead Exist Solely In Our Actual And Virtual Pasts.

Humans Live In A Pit Of Cheating, Exploiting, Hurting, Incarcerating. Every Time, The Species Wastes Some Part Of What It Could Be. This Waste Is Poisonous.

My Life Amounts To No More Than One Drop In A Limitless Ocean. Yet What Is Any Ocean, But A Multitude Of Drops?