If no one is an island, how did we end up as a human
Colored shards. Bits of glass. Some shining, others dull,
all part of the greater picture. The Wheel turns. The huddled splinters remain
what they have always been, and yet their pattern is always changing. They
reflect each other. In this not-too-distant mirror, the whole seems new and
improved and casts a lemon-fresh scent.
Infinite form arising from limited substance.
The kaleidoscope: symbol for modern capitalist