I have finally written something of sufficient quality that I feel no need to brandish it in enfeeblement of what modest merit it does, by chance and circumstance, exemplify.

In essence, the lesson is that there is nothing to fear in creation, not being too earnest, too stylistic, too reminiscent of this or another predecessor, too loosely held together, too tightly circumscribed in rigidity; nothing.  All is an eternal joyous sculpting up from the spinning earth. No one needs the “cogito” — only one man did, in order to justify himself.

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