Put into the middle amongst entities interwoven in the air. A specimen of laughter riding on the wind rooted like a tree in a bunch of particles. Yet solid like a rock. A house unto himself.
The real man is superior to angels and gods: shadow acquaintances hiding themselves between the street panels, a host of psychic visual effects residing inside our hollow earth, through out the mundane myriad of biological furniture.
Kali is nothing as she is stomped upon, while the Lord of Life bleeds in everything that lives. Greater in his dying than all the feeble 3 dimensional things inhabiting this world where all things die.
Greater than ghosts and frightening faces. More powerful than all the angels, gods and demons his beloved has quashed.
