Movement and shout has been given to the world. Who wants to spend time in stillness and silence? Me who listens to the reverberation of these frequencies, and observes their form and colors. Silence listens most to the unheard. In it my consciousness forms a likeness of myself. Mine is like that white guy with a buzz cut, who sees truth for himself, and has a wider than thin musculature (medium). How similar are "we" really to put every white guy with a buzz cut with a medium build who rejects the conformal truth prevalent in this country and time? Why should they be the sidhas that my mind shows me? What is their power? Their eyes show the imperfection of a tattoo. That inkish black stare. Those creases on the forehead. That perplexed point on the brow. That hair so short as to wonder its color, introducimg itself in the eye brows, the white skull cap, and even the short spotty beard. The shadows between lights portrays more gray than black and white. The gray of prison bars, the gray of streets, the gray of rain clouds. With all the fancy of a toilet bowl. With all the luxury of a walk. More a "Beastie Boy" than an "Eminem". More a Jew than a Christian. More a Baha'i than a Muslim. More a Buddhist than a Hindu. When will shade and utility become beauty?