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At Play, Under the Watchful Eye of God Which of us would, willingly, pick up the stone? Which of us would, knowingly, toss it into the stream? No one really thinks beyond the reach of their own arm; beyond the length (or depth) of their own genitalia. Sooner or later, all mysteries become paradox - beginning in obscurity, filtered through prisms - eventually revealed as thoughts, contrary to expectations and never quite as tall as they seemed. We wave one hand, watching the light pass through without feeling the heat of the flame. With all the breath left in a gasp, we listen to the dark fill the room, never considering the depths of the dream. Now the universe pauses, ready to implode, ready to reverse history and complete the journey a ball, a small, dense ball, resting in the left hand of God. |
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