one cannot no-thing do.
since do-ing is always some-thing.
however, certain actions, activities, and work seem to be more valuable to some, have more merit, and/or are tacitly productive.
it's all just killing-time, plodding, picking fleas, or as Vonnegut once said, "farting around."
we had thought technology would create more time for leisure, yet all we do is cram in more farting around. the work week hasn't gotten any shorter.
join us in detachment. the proactive acquiescence in expectation of inevitable defeat. they are many. we are one. though it's never true loss if we succumb early and obviously. they only know surface, so their triumph is vain. our deep scored patina reflects this skim. this veneer. do not mistake us as magnanimous, but as magma. roiling in the hidden tombs, shaping the landscape to come. hot as the surface of the sun reducing the rock-of-ages to viscous putty.