Everything is continually appearing and disappearing. Vanishment happens not just to individuals but to whole civilizations. Nephophiles are perhaps more attuned to the glory of this undulating impermanency than the rest of us.
Each man inhabits a self-created world. The world of the depressed man is grey and pointless; the world of the angry man is loaded with tripwires and triggers. None of these worlds is permanent. They’re dream states.
We are mostly aware of what changes and mostly unaware of what doesn’t.
We are fascinated by bodies, mesmerized by them.
Life snaps its fingers.
The spell breaks.
Time is a thief. It robs us blind. I wasn’t born with glasses.