Without division or interval, the body appears as pure form over content, surface without depth.

The Fact of Being Is Always True Said the professor — I am in a vortex, a maelstrom, below the eye’s surface, standing on the abyssal plain, the fundament of all that is. The atmosphere is moving thickly, dark submarine green, the tempo of sea-bed’s colour, darkly illumined and populated by gods, the eternals, singing songs of Necessity and Fate. And a word carved deep on the forehead of the chief eternal stares straight at me like a cyclopic eye — That word is destiny. Tonig