So we continue our bastardization of everything beautiful and praise ourselves for creating unnatural symmetry; undynamic, sterile, processed.
A running theme is that mankind, we think we're special really. Life is rare, but not phenomenal. We are just as we are made; unfortunate accidents conceived in circumstance, heat and pressure.
We are not miracles, we're mutants
formed out of the trash left unattended by a thoughtless and lazy reality; Reflecting nothing, like the waste we create.