A man doesn’t cease to exist because he is invisible. He is like a lone guitar, or curly neck-hairs, or false water. Pull his arm when you go by, and he forgets it once was a fin (according to Darwin). Another year passes, never to be lived again. I remember being touched, but I cannot be and have been. Since we don’t know if we live beyond this life, let’s give ourselves to loving — to eyes, hands, lips, and ears. Do you hear those birds talking — is there anything more ravishing? In the world of things — so animalistic and blunt — we are but tumbles of flesh seeking definition, like sterile florets awaiting daybreak.
There's nothing Artificial about our Intelligence