We are shapes on the surface. What we build is light in the burden of the Earth, but what we waste is harmful to all who and that live in the path of progress. No matter. The rock lives on while we shed our faces away from record-away from existence. We preserve less than we destroy. Never ending entropy. Are we a gift, a miracle to the universe, a way for it to know itself? No, not a gift. Gifts must be given. Not a miracle. Miracles must be performed. We are a lucky occurrence. Lucky for our own sakes, but no one else's'. Through lightning and mud we came into this life. What will be our end?
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We've left our mark from space, for borders, for copper, for liquid, for tar. What's worse, the mark we leave or our intentions?
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I spy 3 temples with my eye. A coventry health plan. Altius they stand and yet it's just more rock to me
(on the train to SLC) 8/16/2013
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