A short little story about my leg. The one I lost back in the war. It started out like any other day. The leaves were quietly loosing their color and falling down to the cold, hard ground with a thud and a crackle. Life everywhere was closing up shop, preparing for the white cloth to be strewn on top of the black ground in the fields, and gray trees to turn into confectionery delights for the insane. Already, there were traces here and there of grandfather Cold’s mighty chillin’ grasp taking hold of the surroundings. I was sitting by the window that dusk, noting the birds’ mad flights of fancy in the air. They knew it too, it’s on its way. Even before it begun, the struggle was already lost. Skies were turning through the big wheel of the spectrum, gradually dying out to nothingness. It’s all a big beurocracy up there, by the time you opinion makes any difference, a billion tons of paperwork has been submitted, and eternity has come to an end. There is no end to the cycles of power. Round and round, kind of like those wheels on that short bus to school. Only not too round. Round enough as not to attract any attention, but perfectly square so anything is possible. Don’t blink now, that’s when they get you. You blink, the ties that hold your universe together unravel, and madness terminates itself. In those moments, forever takes place, the sky crumbles into dust that lightly sprinkles on my shoulders, ties that bind me down come loose, reality crashes and burns into the black water, and everything is perfect. Wars are at a standstill, bombs are an eternity away from innocent people, bullets made out of inc wedged into layers of plastic are forever frozen in their place. In those few moments of perfection, singularity is reached with the universal mind, and all traces of violence and unrest are erased from this plain, and maybe, just maybe, it is possible for the individual to change the world. That is not as easy as it sounds, not at all. While here in silicon the formula sounds pretty crazy, in unreality, it is impossible to describe. Therefore, it is pretty tricky to get a hang of the ropes, endlessly entwined in the stuff that these realisms are sewn of. Just like it is impossible to fly in wakefulness, while in sleep one learns the tricks of successfully missing the ground. Here also, one must loose himself in the moment, open his mind to greater wisdom, and just be. Abandoning all physical properties, all flesh of this plain, until only the energy of “I” remains. Then and only then, can one coexist on this plain, forever entangled within himself and the light throughout