Nothing here that means anything other than dust and time stretching out.

We are the expression of the infinite

The unknowable

Behind our eyes - depths unthinkable


We are sons and warriors, clerks and middle men. Heartbreaking failure, transcendant triumph.

We crowd about this nothing, this dust shaped void. we are the forms and the edge of the void that is the whole.

We are singing you home.


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MitchRudeen (joined almost 14 years ago)

Raconteur and Roust About

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