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Paranormal - Paranormal Sun
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(O I see what I sought to escape, confronting, reversing my cries,
I see my own soul trampling down what it ask’d for.)
Keep your splendid silent sun,
Keep your woods O Nature, and the quiet places by the woods,
Keep your fields of clover and timothy, and your corn-fields and
orchards,
Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields where the Ninth-month bees hum;
Give me faces and streets—give me these phantoms
incessant and endless along the trottoirs!
- Walt Whitman
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Fossil Fuel
