The wrath of God lies sleeping. It was hid a million years before men were and only men have the power to wake it.

See the child. He is pale and thin, he wears a thin and ragged linen shirt. He stokes the scullery fire.

Whatever exists, he said. Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent. He looked about at the dark forest in which they were bivouacked. He nodded toward the specimens he'd collected. These anonymous creatures, he said, may seem little or nothing in the world. Yet the smallest crumb can devour us. Any smallest thing beneath yon rock out of men's knowing. Only nature can enslave man and only when the existence of each last entity is routed out and made to stand naked before him will he be properly suzerain of the earth.

The judge placed his hands on the ground. He looked at his inquisitor. This is my claim, he said. And yet everywhere upon it are pockets of autonomous life. Autonomous. In order for it to be mine nothing must be permitted to occur upon it save by my dispensation.

The point is there ain't no point.

Ah me, thou Destiny, Giver of evil gifts.

Teaching writing is a hustle.