The world is imperfect; therefore it is perfect.
To create perfection, pure and simple, is to end.
What irony! What jubilation!
When creation happened, one certainty came along:
That is, destruction.
Yet they battled against fate; yet they battled against that road to perfection; yet they violated their destiny....
only to play God themselves-- Dues ex machina.
Yet their perfection led to a different direction--
for they knew the errors we have made;
they searched to abridge that abyss,
that unspeakable gap between human beings.
Separation; Otherization; Isolation; Alienation--
yet these are only natural--for we are human beings,
for we are creatures of imperfection, for we are units of perfection...
But they realized not; they continued their task...
They overcame the limitations of human body,
that container of worldliness...
But what have we left?
Shapeless; amorpheus; nonexistence.
They prevailed. Perfection has arrived;
Yet perfection itself is imperfect.
For death is rebirth,
Rebirth is life,
Life is imperfection,
Life is perfection.
