We share the fire

Material skinperfections

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The kinetic feat of thousands of minds, expending millions of hours, decades of research, continents of resources, and billions of dollars, to devise a single, gargantuan, tarantulalic vise, to grasp a single, microscopic, atomic shell, and strip apart, pry open, fission into, and tear to utter pieces, its very core and fundamental structure, against its Herculean protective gates, and nearly flawless resistant nature, to unleash an explosion, capable of leveling a nation, tells you everything you need to know, about the power within you. In whose body, in a single cell, reside over 100 trillion such atoms. As many per cell, as the number of cells in the whole body: 100 trillion. Times 100 trillion

You have to pursue what you want without any qualifications, Without any equivocations, Without any hesitations. And in order to pursue what you want you have to know what you want. And in order to know what you want you sometimes need to know what you don’t want. That’s the compass. And all the devils nail you to your true north. And all the angels summon you to your shooting star. And just wishing it won’t do. You have to mirror its light speed. You have to calculate your soul trajectory. You have to build the lyrical rocket. You have to levitate the entire sea. And even then you’ve only got a shot. Even then you need the tireless grace of god. Even then it could end in catastrophe. Because nothing is guaranteed. And that’s for an immaculate reason. Because permanency is a disease. A universal lock without a singularity key. And discovering the box is useless if you can’t open it. And opening it is pointless if you know what’s inside of it. And knowing what’s inside of it is heartless if you don’t set it immediately free. And so the goddess is in this box. But she’s not who you think she is. She’s something beyond the entire conception of mystery. And that’s the end of the fucking story