Okay, so picture this. It's 1827. We're in a
cramped little two -room apartment in a pretty
grim part of London. And there's a man lying
there, dying. And for all intents and purposes,
in the eyes of the world, he's a failure. A complete
failure. He's lived in poverty his whole adult
life. He's about to be buried in a common grave
in Bunhill Fields, which is basically a pauper's
pit. And the very few people who even know his
name, they mostly agree on one thing. that the
man was completely, utterly out of his mind.
Exactly. It is such a bleak starting point. I
mean, if you were a betting person back in 1827,
looking at the cultural landscape of England,
you would have bet everything against William
Blake being remembered at all. Let alone revered.
Let alone revered, yes. And yet, that's exactly
why we're here today. This is the whole paradox
of William Blake. Yes, it is. Because today,
you walk into any university literature department,
any art history lecture, and Blake is a titan.
He's on the syllabus right next to Wordsworth
and Keeks. He's in the lyrics of Bob Dylan. He's
the spiritual godfather of the graphic novel.
His verses are sung in cathedrals. It's an unbelievable
turnaround. It's arguably the most dramatic rehabilitation
of a reputation in English cultural history.
You've got this figure who was, well... He was
essentially invisible to the cultural elite of
his own time. Or a laughing stock. Or treated
as a laughing stock, right. And yet he created
a mythology so vast and a visual rawage so distinct
that it took the rest of the world nearly a century
to even figure out what he was doing. So that
is our mission for this deep dive. We're going
to unpack the life and the work of William Blake.
We've got a huge stack of sources here, biographies,
art analysis, his own letters, even court records.
Right. We really want to understand the idiosyncratic
views that made him an outcast in his time. But,
you know, a visionary for ours. And we have to
get technical, too. We need to explore his unique
artistic method because the sources are really
clear that his physical process of printing was
just as revolutionary as his poetry. Absolutely.
You just can't separate Blake the printer from
Blake the poet. But. Before we even get to the
mechanics of that, we have to address the elephant
in the room. The madness. The madness. Yeah.
Yeah. We need to investigate whether he was actually,
you know, hallucinating or if he just possessed
a fundamentally different way of seeing. I remember
reading a claim by the critic Northrop Frye,
and it was just staggering. He said, Blake's
prophetic works are the least read body of poetry
in the English language in proportion to their
merit. Wow. That's a huge claim. Isn't it? It
implies there's this massive treasure trove of
insight that people just skip over because it's
too weird or too dense. And that's the challenge,
right? Blake demands a suspension of modern cynicism.
He asks you to look at the world through a lens
where the spiritual is actually more real than
the physical. So let's start at the beginning,
the child visionary. Usually when we talk about
tortured artists, the trauma starts early. But
with Blake, the sources say his childhood was
just defined by these intense visual experiences.
Right. And visions is the key word here. We're
not talking about a vivid imagination, you know,
the way a child imagines a dragon while playing.
Right. For Blake, these experiences were visceral.
They were external. He saw them with his physical
eyes. The biographical records point to one specific
incident when he was just four years old. He
starts screaming his head off because he claims
he saw God put his head to the window. Which
is, I mean, if you really think about it, that's
a terrifying image. A giant face just appearing
at the window. It really is. It speaks to the
intensity of his perception, even as a toddler.
And it didn't stop there. No. A bit later, he's
maybe eight or ten, walking through Peckham Rye,
just a green space in London, and he looks up
at a tree. But he doesn't see leaves. No. He
tells his parents he saw a tree filled with angels,
bestangling every bough like stars. That phrase
alone, bestangling every bough, it's so quintessentially
Blake, it's poetic even in just the recounting
of the memory. But the fascinating part for me
is how the adults reacted. When he came home
and told his father about the angel tree, his
dad's immediate instinct was to thrash him. Right.
To beat the boy for telling lies. Which, you
know, to be fair to his father, was pretty standard
18th century parenting. Oh, absolutely. But it
sets up this conflict immediately, doesn't it,
between social reality and Blake's reality. It
does. But his mother stepped in. And the record
suggests that while his father was strict, the
parents were, on the whole, pretty supportive
of his artistic side. They made a crucial decision.
They didn't force him into a standard school.
He left school at age 10 and was educated at
home by his mother. Why was that so significant?
Well, because the English school system in the
1700s was a machine for conformity. It was all
rote learning, drilling Latin, and often just
brutal discipline. Right. Blake missed all of
that. His mind wasn't hammered into the standard
shape of the Georgian era. He was allowed to
follow his own curriculum, reading widely and,
well, wildly. So he's allowed to be weird. But
he still needs to make a living. He wasn't a
rich kid. His dad was a hosier selling socks
and stockings. So at age 14, they have to decide
his future. They knew he had artistic talent,
so they look into an apprenticeship. Ideally,
he would have been apprenticed to a painter.
Ah, but the fees for a top -tier painter must
have been... Astronomical. His father just couldn't
afford it, so they settled on the next best thing.
Engraving. I want to pause on engraving, because
to a modern listener, that might just sound like
art. But in the 18th century... There was a huge
class distinction here, wasn't there? Huge. A
painter was a gentleman, an artist with a capital
A who dealt with grand ideas. An engraver was
a tradesman. A craftsman. A craftsman, yes. It
was a service industry. Your job was to take
a painting done by someone else and copy it onto
a copper plate using a sharp steel tool called
a burin. Which sounds like grueling work. It's
grueling physical labor. You're cutting lines
into metal day in, day out. It requires immense
strength and precision, but very little creativity
in the eyes of the art establishment. But his
master, a man named James Beziar, does something
interesting. He sends young Blake to Westminster
Abbey to draw. And this is such a key moment.
You have to strip away your modern image of Westminster
Abbey. Today, it's clean, it's gray stone, it's
full of tourists. In the 1770s, it was a gothic
theater of memory. It was crowded with painted
effigies, colorful waxworks, suits of armor,
deep shadows. It wasn't a great tomb. It was
vibrant and alive. And Blake just falls in love
with it. He becomes obsessed. This is where he
solidifies his love for the gothic style. Now,
you have to understand, in the 18th century,
gothic was a slur. It meant barbarous. It meant
barbarous, rude, medieval. The sophisticated
taste was classical, clean lines, Greek columns,
symmetry. But Blake looked at the Gothic statues
in the Abbey and saw what he called living form.
He felt it was spiritual and true compared to
the cold mathematics of the popular style. There's
a story from this time that I just love because
it shows he wasn't just this, you know, fragile,
visionary flower. The schoolboy incident. Ah,
yes. The Westminster schoolboys. They were notorious.
notoriously entitled and used to run wild in
the abbey, and they started tormenting Glake
while he was up on a scaffold sketching a tomb.
And Blake, the future mystic poet, doesn't just
sit there and take it. No, he knocks the boy
right off the scaffold. And it worked. He complained
to the dean, and the dean actually revoked the
schoolboy's privileges to enter the Abbey. It
shows that even as a teenager, he had this spine
of steel, a scrappy, combative nature that would
really define his entire career. Absolutely.
Which brings us neatly to the next phase, rebellion.
In 1779, he becomes a student at the Royal Academy
of Arts. This is the inner sanctum of the British
art world. And the man running the show is Sir
Joshua Reynolds? Reynolds is, well, he's essentially
the villain of Blake's early life. Reynolds was
a brilliant society painter, but ideologically
he was the establishment personified. He championed
this theory of art based on general truth and
general beauty. Okay, what does that actually
mean, general beauty? It means that to create
high art, you shouldn't paint the specific quirks
or, you know, the flaws of a model. You should
smooth them out. You generalize nature to find
the ideal form. Reynolds believed that the specific
details, the mole on a cheek, a crooked nose
were distractions from the general truth. And
Blake. Hated it with a burning passion. He actually
wrote in the margins of his copy of Reynolds
Discourses, and this is one of his most famous
quotes. To generalize is to be an idiot. To particularize
is the alone distinction of merit. To generalize
is to be an idiot. I mean, that is such a direct
attack on the head of the entire institution.
It's a total philosophical opposition. Blake
believed that truth wasn't in the blurry average
ideal. Truth was in the specific, the minute,
the lineaments, as he called them. He despised
the oil painting style of masters like Rubens,
which he found messy and blotted. He wanted the
hard, clear bounding lines of Michelangelo and
Raphael. Why? What was it about those hard lines?
Because when Blake saw a vision, it wasn't blurry.
It was hyper real. It was precise. It had a clear
outline. He wanted his art to reflect that visionary
clarity. So you have this guy who sees angels
and trees and wants art to be razor sharp. And
he's stuck in a school that's telling him to
blur the lines and paint general beauty. It's
a recipe for disaster. Or a recipe for revolution.
And speaking of revolution, we have to talk about
the Gordon Riots of 1780. Yes, this is one of
those historical moments that just feels like
fiction. The Gordon Riots were these massive
anti -Catholic uprisings in London. Mobs, burning
buildings, just total chaos. And somehow, Blake
gets involved in this. His biographer, Alexander
Gilchrist, records that blake was walking toward
his old master's shop and basically got swept
up by the mob the sheer physical force of the
crowd just carried him along where were they
going they stormed newgate prison set it on fire
and released the prisoners and blake was reportedly
in the front rank the front rank so do we think
he was there voluntarily or was he just like
crowd surfing against his will It's ambiguous.
I mean, he likely didn't plan to storm a prison
when he woke up that morning, but Blake definitely
had a radical streak. I can imagine. Seeing that
kind of chaotic energy, the burning of a fortress
of authority, that imagery absolutely seeped
into his later work. He creates characters like
Orc, the spirit of rebellion. You have to wonder
if he was remembering the heat of the flames
at Newgate. It's that collision of the mystical
and the really gritty reality of London that
makes him so... interesting. But let's shift
gears a little to his personal life. We painted
him as a bit of a loner, but he had a very, very
significant partnership with his wife, Catherine
Boucher. This is one of the great partnerships
in art history, truly. The courtship story itself
is famous. Blake had just been rejected by another
woman. He's at Catherine's house complaining
about his broken heart to her and her parents.
Right. And he turns to Catherine and asks, do
you pity me? She says, yes. And he just replies,
then I love you. That sounds incredibly sudden.
It was. They were married in 1782. And we have
to look at the class dynamic here again. Catherine
was the daughter of a market gardener. And she
was illiterate when they met. She actually signed
the marriage register with an X. But she didn't
stay illiterate. No, not at all. Blake taught
her to read and write. But more importantly,
for our discussion, he taught her how to print.
We really have to correct the record on this.
Catherine wasn't just a muse. She was a technician.
What was she doing in the workshop? She operated
the heavy rolling press. She mixed the paints.
She hand -colored the printed pages. So when
we look at a Blake book, we are literally looking
at her work, too. Absolutely. Scholars like Angus
Whitehead have really emphasized that this was
a collaborative workshop. Without Catherine's
physical labor, the illuminated books as we know
them probably wouldn't even exist. There are
some difficult parts of their history, though.
Biographers mention stormy times. And there's
this persistent rumor that Blake wanted to bring
a concubine into the marriage. This is a very
controversial point. Blake was exploring radical
religious ideas, specifically the writings of
Swedenborg, which had some unconventional views
on marriage and the spirit. And there is a story
that Blake proposed bringing in a second wife.
citing biblical patriarchs like Abraham as a
precedent. I can't imagine Catherine loved that
idea. The story goes that she cried and he dropped
the idea immediately. But I should caution that
a lot of modern scholars think this might be
a misinterpretation of his poetry or just later
gossip. So we don't know for sure. We don't.
He wrote a lot about free love and the evils
of jealousy, but whether he actually tried to
practice polygamy is very debatable. What isn't
debatable is the tragedy that they did share.
The loss of a child. Yes. There's no official
birth record, but biographers strongly suspect
that Catherine had a stillborn daughter. Wow.
And Blake's poem, The Book of Thel, is about
an unborn spirit who's afraid to enter the world
of experience and flees back to the eternal.
It's very hard to read that poem and not see
it as an elegy for a lost child. That adds such
a layer of sadness to his work. But let's move
to the work itself. We keep saying illuminated
books. For a listener who has never seen one,
what are we actually talking about? Because he
didn't just write a poem and send it off to a
typesetter. No, and this is the deep dive into
the technology. In the 18th century, if you wanted
to publish a book with pictures, it was a two
-step process. First, you would set the text
in lead, type letter by letter, and print that.
Then you'd take a copper plate. engrave the picture
and print that separately on another page which
was expensive and it separated the word from
the image exactly blake wanted them to be one
organic thing he wanted total control so around
1788 he invented relief etching it's brilliant
in its simplicity but just incredibly difficult
to execute okay so how does it work It's the
reverse of standard engraving. In standard engraving,
you cut the lines into the copper. Blake did
the opposite. He used an acid -resistant liquid,
a kind of stop -out varnish. And he'd point with
that. He'd use a brush to paint his text and
his images directly onto the copper plate. But
he would have had to write the text backwards,
right? In mirror writing. Yes. Can you imagine?
He had to write his poetry in reverse, with a
brush, in varnish, on a copper plate. The skill
required is just mind -boggling. So then what?
Then he'd dip the plate in acid. The acid would
eat away all the raw, untouched copper, but it
couldn't touch the parts he had painted with
the varnish. So when he washed the acid off,
the text and the image were left standing up.
Standing up in relief, exactly, like a rubber
stamp. So he could... ink the whole plate and
print the words and the picture in one go. Exactly.
This was revolutionary. It meant he could be
his own publisher, his own printer, his own distributor.
He bypassed the censors, the commercial publishers,
the editors. He completely seized the means of
production. It's like the 18th century equivalent
of starting a sub stack or YouTube channel because
the mainstream networks won't hire you. That
is a perfect analogy. He became an independent
media house of one. And after printing, he and
Catherine would hand paint each page with watercolors.
Which means every copy is unique. Every single
copy of Songs of Innocence or The Marriage of
Heaven and Hell is a unique work of art. They're
not mass -produced commodities. So he's working
away in London, creating these masterpieces,
but he's still really struggling financially.
And then, in 1800, he decides to leave London.
He moves to the countryside, to a village called
Feltham. This was supposed to be the big turning
point. A patron, a man named William Haley, invited
him to live in a cottage and work as his personal
illustrator. And at first, Blake is thrilled.
He's ecstatic. He writes letters saying, heaven
opens here on all sides. He's seeing angels in
his garden. He feels free from the city. But
the reality sets in pretty quickly. William Haley
was. While Blake later called him a corporeal
friend and a spiritual enemy. Ouch. Haley was
a bad poet and, by all accounts, a bit of a bore.
He didn't understand Blake's genius at all. He
just wanted Blake to do drudgery painting miniatures,
decorating ladies' fans. He tried to turn the
visionary prophet into a commercial decorator.
Precisely. And Blake felt his soul was just being
suffocated by it all. And then comes the incident
with the soldier. This is the moment where Blake's
life really hangs in the balance. The John Schofield
incident. August 1803. Blake finds a soldier,
John Schofield, wandering around in his garden.
Blake asks him to leave. And Schofield refuses.
Schofield refuses. So Blake, again showing that
scrappy nature, grabs the soldier by the elbows
and physically marches him down the road to the
local inn. But Schofield doesn't just, you know,
walk away and forget about it. No. Schofield
goes to the magistrate and swears an oath that
Blake committed sedition. He claims that during
the scuffle, Blake shouted, damn the king, the
soldiers are all slaves. And we have to contextualize
this. In 1803, England is terrified of a French
invasion. Napoleon is at the door. Exactly. Accusing
someone of sedition is not a small thing. It
was a hanging offense. Blake was put on trial
at the Chichester Sizes for assault and sedition.
If the jury had believed the soldier, Blake could
have been in prison or, well, much worse. So
what happened at the trial? Blake was acquitted.
The evidence was deemed to be invented. The villagers
all testified to his good character. But the
psychological scar was deep. I'm sure. Blake
felt he had been targeted by the state, and he
immortalized it in his art. In his later epic
poem, Jerusalem, the character Schofield appears
as a villain wearing mind -forged manacles. He
literally turned his accuser into a demon in
his personal mythology. That brings us to the
mythology itself. Yes. This is where a lot of
listeners might get lost. You open a Blake book
and it's not just Jesus and Satan. It's Urizen,
Loss, Anatharmon, Orc. Why did he need to create
his own gods? Because he felt the traditional
religious terms were polluted. God and angel
had been used by the state and the church to
justify war, slavery, and repression. So he created
his own pantheon, the four zoas, to map the human
psyche. Okay, let's break them down. Who are
the key players in this system? Okay, so the
big one is Urizen. His name sounds like horizon,
you know, the limit, or your reason. He is the
embodiment of reason and law. He's usually depicted
as an old man with a white beard, holding a compass,
measuring the world, creating rules. So reason
is the bad guy. I mean, that's a pretty bold
take for the Age of Enlightenment. In Blake's
world, yes. Single vision, pure rationality without
emotion or imagination is destructive. It freezes
the world into a dead thing. So who's the hero?
The hero is Loss. L -O -S. He represents imagination
and poetry. He's a blacksmith, constantly beating
form out of the fires of chaos. He is the active
creative force. And the eighth Armin. She represents
inspiration and pity, the female counterpart
or emanation of loss. And then you have Orc,
the fiery spirit of rebellion. Orc is the energy
that explodes against Urizen's cold laws. This
all connects to his most famous work, The Marriage
of Heaven and Hell. He basically flips the entire
Bible on its head. It does. He argues that in
traditional religion, good is just passive obedience,
which the church calls heaven, and evil is active
energy and desire, which they call hell. And
Blake says... Blake says energy is eternal delight.
He argues that the creative force, the devil
party, is actually the source of all life and
genius. The tigers of wrath are wiser than the
horses of instruction. Precisely. The untamed,
instinctive energy of the tiger has more divine
wisdom than the trained, obedient horse. And
this wasn't just abstract theology for him. It
was deeply political. Extremely political. Blake
was a radical through and through. He wore the
Phrygian cap, the red cap of the French Revolution
in the streets of London, which was a dangerous
statement to make. And he was fiercely anti -slavery.
Fiercely. His palms, like the little black boy
and visions of the daughters of Albion, attack
the institution of slavery and the commodification.
of human beings with a ferocity that was really
rare for his time. And his views on free love
fit in here, too. Yes. He saw a marriage that
lacked love as just legal prostitution. He believed
that suppressing your natural desires twisted
the soul. He who desires but acts not breeds
pestilence. That's a powerful line. It is. However,
we should add some nuance here. As he got older,
his view shifted a bit. He moved away from a
purely libertine idea of do whatever you want
toward a philosophy of self -denial. But, and
this is key, self -denial inspired by love for
another person, not by a commandment from a priest
or a king. Okay, so we have to circle back to
the madness question again in this context. Because
while he's writing these incredible epics, he's
telling people he's... you know, having lunch
with the prophet Isaiah. Wordsworth, the other
great poet of the age, had a really famous quote
about this. He said, There is something in the
madness of this man which interests me more than
the sanity of Lord Byron and Walter Scott. That's
a great line. It's like, he's crazy, but he's
interesting crazy. And Blake certainly didn't
help his own case with anecdotes like the ghost
of a flea. Oh, you have to tell that story. So
he was with an astrologer friend named John Varley.
And Blake suddenly says, I see the ghost of a
flea. Marley, who is fascinated by the occult,
gets very excited and says, Draw it! And Blake
stares into what, for anyone else, is an empty
corner of the room and draws this terrifying,
muscular, scaly man -monster holding a little
cup for blood. Wow. And he claimed the spirit
told him that fleas were inhabited by the souls
of men who were, by nature, bloodthirsty to excess.
I mean, that sounds exactly like a hallucination.
It does. But then you look at the drawing. It's
incredibly specific. It's technical. To Blake,
the imagination was the body of God. If he imagined
it, it was real. He just didn't distinguish between
inner and outer reality the way that we do. So
let's fast forward to the end of his life. He's
in his 60s. He's back in London. He's poor. He's
obscure. But then something amazing happens.
He gets discovered by a new generation. The ancients.
This is the real redemption arc of his story.
A group of young artists, including Samuel Palmer
and John Linnell, they found Blake's work. And
they didn't see a madman. They saw a sage. They
called him the interpreter. They valued his spiritual
intensity over the materialism of the dawning
industrial world. And practically speaking, they
saved him from utter poverty. They did. John
Linnell commissioned him to illustrate the Book
of Job in Dante's Divine Comedy. This gave Blake
a steady income and a real purpose in his final
years. And the work he produced for the Book
of Job is considered by many to be his absolute
masterpiece of engraving. And he worked right
up until the very end, didn't he? The death of
William Blake in 1827 is one of the most moving
scenes in all of literary biography. It really
is. He's lying in his bed, working on the Dante
illustrations. He stops, looks over at Catherine,
who has been by his side for 45 years, and says,
Stay, Kate. Keep just as you are. I will draw
your portrait for you have ever been an angel
to me. Oh, that is just... heartbreakingly beautiful.
And then after he finishes the sketch, he lays
down his tools and just starts singing loudly.
He's singing hymns about the things he is seeing
in the invisible world. Incredible. A lodger
in the same house later said, I have been at
the death, not of a man, but of a blessed angel.
But the story has a tragic postscript. After
Blake dies, and then after Catherine dies, what
happens to all his leftover work? Well, Catherine
lived for a few more years. She actually continued
to sell his works, but she would always consult
Mr. Blake's spirit before setting a price. Of
course she would. But after she died, the remaining
manuscripts passed to a man named Frederick Tatham.
And Tatham was not exactly a fan of Blake's more
radical stuff. Not at all. Tatham had converted
to a very fundamentalist sect called the Ervinites.
He came to believe that Blake's work was heretical
and inspired by the devil. So he burned it. He
burned the manuscripts. We don't know exactly
how much was lost forever, but Blake had once
told a friend he had written 20 tragedies as
long as Macbeth. None of them survive. That is
a cultural crime. 20 Macbeths gone forever because
one guy got squeamish. It is absolutely devastating.
But enough survived to ignite the future. So
let's talk about that legacy. Because he does
eventually rise from the ashes. It started slowly
with the pre -Raphaelites in the mid -19th century.
Artists like Rossetti and Swinburne who just
loved his medieval aesthetic. But the real explosion,
that happened in the 20th century. A counterculture.
Exactly. The beats. Allen Ginsberg claimed he
literally heard Blake's voice reciting poetry
to him in his apartment. And think about the
band The Doors. Jim Morrison. Jim Morrison named
the ban after a line from Blake's The Marriage
of Heaven and Hell. If the doors of perception
were cleansed, everything would appear to man
as it is, infinite. And I think most people probably
assume that's an Aldous Huxley quote. Huxley
used it for his book title, but he got it directly
from Blake. Blake is the godfather of that whole
psychedelic idea that reality is so much bigger
than what our five senses report to us. And in
literature, you've got Philip Pullman. His Dark
Materials series is basically a modern retelling
of Blake's war against authoritarian religion.
And yet there's a supreme irony in all this.
Blake's poem from the preface to Milton, the
one that starts, and did those feet in ancient
time walk upon England's mountains green. It
became the hymn Jerusalem. Yes. It's sung at
cricket match. rugby games, the last night of
the proms. It's become an unofficial English
national anthem. Which is so ironic because the
poem is a radical attack on the dark satanic
mills of the Industrial Revolution and the authority
of the church. It's a call for a mental revolution
to build a new Jerusalem. Blake would probably
find it hilarious or horrifying that the very
establishment he hated is now singing his song
while waving flags. There's one last detail about
his legacy that I found really touching. His
grave. For a very long time, the exact spot in
Bunhill Fields was lost. There was a general
memorial stone, but it wasn't on the grave itself.
Right. But in 2018, after 14 years of painstaking
investigation by a Portuguese couple, Carol and
Luis Garrido, the exact spot was rediscovered.
And they finally put a proper marker on it. They
did. It reads, Here lies William Blake, 1757
-1827, poet, artist, prophet. Better late than
never. Indeed. So, let's wrap this all up. What's
the final takeaway here? We've talked about the
printer, the madman, the prophet. Why does he
still matter so much to the listener today? I
think it all comes back to his hatred of single
vision. of Newton's scientific materialism. Blake
isn't saying science is bad, but he's saying
it's incomplete. He believed that imagination
was the body of God. The human ability to create,
to visualize, that's the fundamental reality
for him. Exactly. He lived in poverty and obscurity
because he refused to compromise that vision.
He refused to generalize or to fit into the box
that Joshua Reynolds wanted him to fit into.
He really challenges us. We live in an era of
algorithms. big data, and consensus reality.
We're constantly being told what to like, what
to think, how to measure our own worth. And Blake
says, look deeper. He leaves us with that provocative
thought. The tigers of wrath are wiser than the
horses of instruction. So the question for you,
for the listener, is this. In your own life,
are you being the horse of instruction, doing
what you're told, following the safe, well -trodden
path? Or are you suppressing a tiger? What would
happen if just for a day you trusted your own
visions, your own idiosyncratic way of seeing
the world over the consensus of everyone else?
You might just create something eternal. It's
a dangerous thought, but a necessary one. Thanks
for diving deep with us. Keep your eyes open
for the angels in the trees. Goodbye.