“The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible”
–Vladimir Nabokov, .
count the stars
watch them disappear
in the design of colored pencils
write the formula out
solve the mystery of time.
Suppose the creativity of your design is based on numbers and then add us all up and develop humanity. Add a God to the formula and hell brakes loose. Ego disrupts the original plan and all along time we are born into this chaos. Moms and dads prune the branches of desire but the warmth of the sun and the chill of evening do nothing to sever the consequences. We are doomed. Or maybe not. Someone will solve the mystery of time.