And then I led an expedition to the Dead Sea and uncovered tablets written by ancient ones who explained all secrets as the products of human minds, all gods as the creations of human thought, and all afterlives as the escape from earthly life and death. The robot marines of the War machine have charged down all streets, all hallways, all alleys, and have killed the men, women, and children of all ages regardless of creed, color, sex, and national origin. The machine does not discriminate. Unaided and unarmed I stalk the summits of deception. Myriad banisters offer fences for my playground, but the cycles goes unchanged, rolling 'round the bend into some other district.
Thoughts pick up where others left off, never complete but never incomplete, always complimentary.
Just as if two triangles could form a circle, each tree falls over streams to lie on other fallen trees. Just up the street there is another street called Rain Drop Circle and yet another one called Fallen Leaves Trail. In the case of wilderness, traces are more easily hidden. And yet, just beside the driveway to the mayor's house, there is a new flower that no one else has seen, and three cloves of clover never before touched by human hands. Just below the green stem are many grains of sand, where an ant surveys the region, scouting out the countryside unheeded and unclothed.