At moments everything is clear, and when that happens we see that the world is barely there at all. It’s a perfectly balanced mechanism of shouts and echoes pretending to be wheels of cogs, a dream clock chiming beneath a mystery-glass we call life.
Let’s concede how our lives are jostled and spun around, that nothing is fixed, that even the ground we stand on is in motion. Underneith us there is only instability. Beyond us, there is only chance.
(Pieced together from Stephen King and Jon Mooallem).
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