Consider the truism: every life, if cast in appropriate light, is miraculous or amazing or more than the sum of its parts - assume it could be falsified, was the type of proposition susceptible to, capable of, being falsified. Wouldn’t it take more energy than fission and the law of large numbers contain in their collective fantastic amplitude in order to unstring and disentangle the taut neatness of the assumption that lets that truism hang together?

Every common path trends toward unique, and every idiosyncratic particle runs into a shared fate. The spastic restless becomes inert stricken quiet.

Take the stuffing out of however many bold young hype man visionaries that the 19th century midwifed into being. Against these fragments obsession lays down a marker. All say the same thing in different terms, carved out of private vocabularies they would have calcify into stone: I am the man, I saw it, it was real (breath held in abeyance and then . . . ) and I will bear witness.