227/365. by paper owls. on Flickr.

16 NY Feelings penetrate objects of thought. Dissipating, they eventually hang in space as a misty fog..sullen and dark cooling. A heavy stillness penetrates, and my empty chamber deepens far beyond and away. Enshrouded by void, all objects, all tracks of thought in this pungent emptiness are of me. Why learn anything? All that I could ever encounter would be some feeling, some construction of light or pristine ideal of me, seeking some timeless place to be. What good are these apparitions of mind? that inborn darkness dreams..if they are only of me. By the systems of matter within a system, by the system within many systems am I bounded.

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