the methodologies of doubt until proven wrong, are the humbleness we could cup in our open palms when reaching out to others with the gift of questions.

Here, hold this measuring stick through wondering meanderings, through life, through counterpoints to countering voices. 

There burn the regular intervals well-tempered for microtonal crisp fireflies darkling the unknown skies: the lens is yours to sharpen. 

Where then she’d shed the stale narratives unreal of the stagnated and installed. Human, halt your race, guiding the seeing blind to the furnaces of moist soil and dispersed stardust. 

Gentle Human, you noble beast, are never too bloated to dignified fail. 

—animasuri’22