Dear Wallace Stevens, can you imagine anything into reality? After all, Plato tried,
however, he didn't believe in poetry, or its value. Apparently, up is the perfect pattern and down is merely material (from which it's cut). A mirror stands in the middle when I obtain "precise equilibrium." Is the soul unreal? Dead? Or is the concept not maintainable? "Having created something unreal. It adheres to it and intensifies its unreality." Pinocchio said, "I'm a real boy" and Nietzsche would call him a liar. The idea of nobility makes us close to God, unless you're Don Quixote and imagining nobility just makes you insane. I must recognize when I'm talking in circles, but are words not jumbles of connotative imaginings anyway?