"At times the last day is the last good day, that's the best way to see it. Before the down slope, at the apex height, and how so much can really be gathered just by pressing your mind into where it should go. By burrowing like a mole-mouse, blind and nose-horny, loving the hard crystals against the inside of its skin. Begging to be always covered by some greater condition than itself, and to be immersed in the ground that it did not make, but from where it finds its life. Not a nest put together, but a world tunneled into, with natural turrets, plank walks, drawstrings, sideways-tunnels, fast travels to different parts of the earth. This is what it means to now never leave. That even as we emerge, our skin grows reverse-wrinkly, we eventually start to itch, not because the world is wrong, but because the inside world is right. When we finally learn how to be better quiet, when such a silence infuses our being, how much more this stillness will be enfranchised, its meanings laid out like rings around mountains, its oldness a production and combination of many things. That as the theater clamors down, the conductor will also instruct. That as the room grows cleaner, the evidence gets laid bare. That as you turn, you turn. That as you turn, you turn. That as you turn." -Malik Wilson, Won't You Come to Me

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