I am the occurrence of salt, slime, wist, will, living, repulsing, all within the chassis of my skin.
I am the occurrence at-once of all these things, but all these things in changing minglings.
But what is this I say?
It is but the shying cry of Know Thyself. It is but this cry, sublimated, made personal and projectile, uncreased on virtual paper like the rain is uncreased by the windscreen wiper.
And I am my own peculiar advantage.