Tear yourself away from the tide of progress before it begins it's inevitable clockwork recession and pulls you down. Jump tracks and let absolute reorientation be the new state. Withdraw and be utterly struck by the innate perfection of nature/reality/home/nameless grounds from which strings spring! Nothing comes close to what is. The dream of the simulacrum only heightens our appreciation of what it yearns to be. The beholder checkmates it's subjects and reveres the unreachable, meeting it halfway. Meeting, as a constant act, reflecting the spiraling impossibility of contact and laughing tears for the sake of one's own life.
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