Hollow rings a needless sound, the words all scatter 'round like flies about a fallen beast. Their drone each meaning something; in general meaning nothing.

How I wish that I could transform daily. The bird is magnificent, yet has no idea what magnificence is. In the predawn mist, wrapped in its grass and straw home, each feather a masterpiece of intricacy and symmetry, it breaths slow and steadfast. Morning's silent glow wraps around her, awakening her soul to its duty; to eat, to fly, to hunt. She pursues her inner destiny with no thought of fashion, necessity, or mortality. She hunts because she must. She eats because she is hungry. That is what a bird thinks. The bird has no word for hunger, yet it knows what it is to need food. She knows no word for flight, yet spreads her wings and fulfills her existence. The man relies heavily on routine, the day to day killing his ability to live out the destiny written in his DNA. What is it that men are meant to do if the bird eats, hunts and flies, what more can a man expect from life?

If you say something enough, you might just end up believing it. No matter how ridiculous. So, what if you write it over and over again? Will you believe something that you write over, and over, and over again? Or is writing different than speech in its very nature? Writing leaves a physical trace and is therefore inherently more permanent. We are aware of our words' permanence, and choose more carefully the form our thoughts take in the physical world. Speech is automatic, and thoughtless. Writing causes the mind to look forward and backward at once.