You find yourself thinking, what is the thrust of all this? I found myself waiting, thinking, disillusioned with certain prospects. This place is still the old place. And what is new?

This place is still the place where the world waits and whirls. The loom still arcs overhead and lands at your feet. Who knows what to make of that?

There is the hermetic art and the humane art. You can posit yourself as the source of all sprites, or you can see what actually lives there.

I don't know how to be humane if you don't know any humans.