Dustbin Obscuro: a selection from DH Lawrence, and my own reflections.

"....You may have laid your line from one end to the other of the infinite.  But still there's plenty of hinterland.  I'll go.  Good-bye.  Ach, it will be so nice to be alone: not to hear you, not to see you, not to smell you, humanity.  I wish you no ill, but wisdom.  Good-bye!

To be alone with one's own soul.  Not to be alone without my own soul, mind you.  But to be alone with one's own soul!  This, and the joy of it, is the real goal of love.  My own soul, and myself.  Not my ego, my conceit of myself.  But my very soul.  To be at one in my own self.  Not to be questing any more.  Not to be yearning, seeking, hoping, desiring, aspiring.  But to pause, and be alone."  

---

"Once we really consider this modern process of life and the love-will, we could throw the pen away, and spit, and say three cheers for the inventors of poison-gas.  Is there not an American who is supposed to have invented a breath of heaven whereby, drop one pop-corn-ful in Hampstead, one in Brixton, one in East Ham, and one in Islington, and London is a Pompeii in five minutes!  Or was the American only bragging?  Because anyhow, whom has he experimented on?  I read it in the newspaper, though.  London a Pompeii in five minutes.  Makes the gods look silly!"

-DH Lawrence

Reality itself, as the children emerge to spatial reasoning, the maturation of eyesight and sundry other rigorous yokes of adulthood, is perhaps infinity generated in the mind of God, and to think, the children aren't able to subliminate complex numbers before the age of 12, was it?

But we are imperfect little flocks of spittle, DNA of the big dog and so forth, like star-fishing a hair from a hare, and then a woman to cook my hare for me, my catch, my game, both my catches, and both, therewith, my game.  The subtle little flotsam is like the light in a hallway on, and the light in a room off, the dimglow inside Joe Biden's eardrum, a kind of half-gloom that sparks its own chiaroscuro, and we could have visions of things dancing and fighting in the half-dark, the "obscuro".

Specks of dust, mayhap, are us all, in the House of God.