The infinite reward of the end! Must it be infinite? It’s certain it is. It
And nothing is everything- as well as everything; that if the end
brought it all
We’d confuse that this was it- nothing settles us without confusion:
All is appropriately all.
You dream? You fool. You have a stack of pigeons below your
glass, having crashed
To death against it. Necessity evinces us of it with a blade point.
Thus we learn
Our engine of surcease: Possibility adopts the vicious, and ye
dream gentle. Dream of cannons
And blood and wars that banner their arrival with the cannons that
S. T. Brant is a teacher living in Las Vegas.