Right, oh, there was something we were meant to do with the folded napkins on the table between the plate tectonics, networks of motions that you are better off not trying to predict, as I keep saying in an over the top way, as the path is the path to perfection and there is no snapshot possible and of course any describable state of the ideal is a rank absurdity, clouded by faulty notions of valuation, yet susceptible to the earnest effort guided by mild forms of faith or belief or even mere dedication, a loyalty with the option of exit, a most potent run that threatens to be come a walk under a tiny act of will, demonstrating a free possibility ignored deliberately, not too simple, not so useless, and reasonably complex.