There wants to be a twisting change, and it does not know how to happen. It swirls and rolls, and climbs this un-seeable mound, and finds itself back at the bottom flipping in swill.
It tells itself it is grand, and it tells itself it is vile. It hopes eternal, and it dies depressed. It believes on the goodness in all hearts and it counts on betrayal for its bread. It is not happy nor sad, it does not hate nor love, it wants for nothing and demands everything, because everything is itself.
If all things be of the one, why does the one so abuse itself, and why does it permit a few to create a perversion whilst enticing with divinity? Why does it want you to believe that you are it and always have been? What if infinity were finite?
Ask a question you can't think of for yourself.
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