DISTILLATE
Something begins to dip out of view. It had covered everything like a damp blanket, suffusing everything with dread, fear, humiliation and misery. These were the strands of that which covered, its destined fabric, never to be altered. But like all rules this too had exceptions, and for some the gray blanket protected from the cold of poverty and inflicted the grossness of concrete matter on others who were meant to be strangers to the fabric, at least relatively.
It began to dip out of view. Only because of the hope that the Sun shone outside the squat world, where aesthetics and pleasure existed and that there were links with this glorious Sun, deeper than those with transient loss, was this dipping a real anticipation.
Sometimes, unless inevitability hits hard, flattens the animal, divinity cannot manifest and the incarnate soul cannot remember its union with That. Upanishads say 'Thou Art That'. It appears to be another of those empty shells unless every ...
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