I have seen the world as a mugger poised around a future corner, his blackjack ready to crack down on your skull.
And as a ship entering a tranquil bay, full of guns and soldiers preparing to disembark.
And as a poison I needed to take in controlled doses in order to survive. Ultimately, of course, you know it will kill you. You just try to forestall the mortal effect as long as you can.
We all want to thrive, not just survive. I can only thrive by throwing open the doors to Elsewhere and drawing strength from the world that blows in. Until Elsewhere is as real as here and as present, until it fills the same space, the solid emptiness of here, with its obverse fullness, a pregnant cloud full of rain.