It may be beneficial to think of yourself as Cobain, or Lenin, buried to your neck in the snow, only your blue eyes visible to those who may visit twenty years later. To realise your destiny and have your love manifest make permanent the actions of your body on the world around you.

To your Piscean cousin, The Satellite, there in oceania with the relics of his children to work in the palace you may build, not fit for their original use, but to be seen by a distant observer, much like a god, that drops them on earth, and thereby a perfect representation of man. And maybe further, from Aquinas to the Great American, lost around the lower rocks of the Dzungarian Alatau mountain, torn by the high winds that warn you of the creatures that guard terrain rich in gold, to build structures there so that adverse emotions may be domesticated and your liberty expressed. The ocean to your snow burial at the pole, struck by the cousins of high winds, unsure if they are moved by the the great american, or the great force from its home.

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