Your pride is till too apparent. Yet thou hath humbled thine-self, knowing what a little speck of dust y’all are to mine eyes, though not a tear flowed from its redness, itchiness, nay actually, tiredness of reading, wondering, waiting – how long until ash becomes us?
Ah, yes. The cosmos. This hellish planet. It does have fine dirtiness suspended in air of which my thoughts wondered a few days ago – how nose hairs are able to filter out these particulates of ancient dinosaur breath or why are lungs don’t cake up in muddiness.
It’s amazing how hot and dry the desert can be – where y’all will find solitude and quietness, soon enough and all for messing around with people of clay. There you will have your peace forever among yourselves until the rain pours to give you another garden to grow…
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