Fringe! Brothers! I burst with it! I am a slave to it! The truth, I cannot resist but write it anymore! Thou asketh not the right questions, wisheth and hopeth all the wrong things. Thou deniest thyself the simplest of pleasures, of flesh, of food, even at times of breath and of life, and for why, I ask? Only that though might ride upon thine golden calf, the glittering beast which falsifies thine glory and maketh thee a slave to flesh. Come and find the garden, fellows! Take upon thine head a crown of emeralds and gauzy rose, and drink deep of the waters of life, but not so deep that thou perish as Ophelia upon the giving of her flowers. Above all, read, my God! Always read– read, and learn, and let go thyself, that thine body might prove a worthy vessel to the consciousness which lies so separate from the ego, to that observer, that kia, that chi, tao, nous, which observes, endlessly, in a linear and thoroughly loving fashion, all of those who walk within its grace, and all of those who pass along its name for the substance of the ages. Answer the call, bretherin, and let the righteous truth resound. Seest thou the Hangéd Man? Then hear the word of God– for many mirrors hangeth there upon the bathroom wall, and each one of them, hangéd as the man shown within it. What burden beareth thou, Atlas! But what honor, too– what frail, beauteous responsibility, to hold the world upon thine shoulders, even if a wicked chore.