One Should Read Borges More.

The American Mirror, Said The Voice, The Sad American Mirror Of Wealth And Poverty And Constant Useless Metamorphosis, The Mirror That Sails And Whose Sails Are Pain.

Death, In The Eastern Tradition, Was Only A Passage. What Wasn't Clear ... Was Toward What Place, What Reality, That Passage Led.

The Moon Is Fat And The Night Air Is So Pure It Seems Edible.

Even On The Poorest Streets People Could Be Heard Laughing. Some Of These Streets Were Completely Dark, Like Black Holes, And The Laughter That Came From Who Knows Where Was The Only Sign, The Only Beacon That Kept Residents And Strangers From Getting Lost.

When I Was Done Traveling, I Returned Convinced Of One Thing: We're Nothing.