It is, well, a sentiment. Or perhaps, an object. Or a marvelous concept, or a nefarious one. It floats in the air, like a feather, and swims in the sea with grace. It is the beginning and the end. It is the primary colours, and black, and white. It could be sentient, could be merely a machine. While speeding, it looks slow, while crawling, it seems to race - assuming we can see it at all. It is everything and nothing, everywhere and nowhere. It's a noun, and a verb, and an adjective. It defies not merely grammar, but reality itself. Those of us who have encountered one are uniquely privileged.
by Lyanthya January 12, 2004