How do I see the world? It is not the I that is important- or the you- but rather, the we, in that I am inseparable from you; my love and my burning desire are not 'my' the mind is an illusion, a pervasion of 'self' and the sky is a cycle connecting the earth. We're in a universe of ironies and I am amused at this, the metaphor of metaphors- the typology of who we 'are' is forever enlightening. And in the midst of all this are the slightly insane, I among them; those who try and put a name to the unnameable. Your beauty cannot be described, we are all doomed to be lonely, and poetry is a vain attempt to connect a string and draw an arrow to the unity of things.