On the contrary, were one to draw souls out of the royal (depths unseen), one would compare them again with the shallows, that is, with my crabs, which come alive dug up and yet earthily sheltered. Such places do not like pepper as the oldest barriers of eternity, and so they move towards the foot of concrete, not sandy, deposits, because there, there in the marrow of the essence / the hermit crabs cruise, You, special and spiritual beings who left the Earth long ago. Are there any of them too in any surroundings? And could every here-and-there poetically endangered SF page form a reason sufficient in thought for the purchase of a better spiritual speedboat?

Who knows whether it will set off faster or leave an immortal trace towards the white-hot rivers, the mountains of 'tidal' waves, and the misery imagined here from the ozone shoal that spreads unbelievably, and then vanishes. But let us leave that too for the surfer-ecological end of the novel... because, on account of the enormous spaces in which phenomenally connected plots spin, I shall simplify our simplest words for this long column too. Oh, one can dive in, and whether we will, or whether you want to, allow thoughts to let 'more important dreams' of a better tomorrow for all beings on Earth surface through them into more densely overgrown habitats – alongside those still untouched, depends only on the pepper paid for, because too far from all views from the Earth lies the cosmic protowilderness, and in the Irchiinnuss universe, as a quadrant, it is eternal as well! Heh, why am I writing this?