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I'm an oddball. A meteorite. I'm not socially inept; I can don a mask suitable for the surrounding world. But I often befriend quietness so my soul can converse with nature. I like to detail her. Not with colour, motion or picture - she's vividly expressed that all around. Take our own bodies as examples of her art. Rather, I try to capture her potent raw beauty in words. It's a challenge. A mountain is not a mountain. How can these letters alone that form a word contain the majesty, the courage and awe-inspiring energy of this wonderous giant? A mountain is a spirit that scarred its body during so many self-battles, hardships and breakdowns, but with indomitable internal power and a heart that couldn't be broken, the tectonic forces grew the mountain so mighty it now dines with the gods. It's like the word human or a person's name; they're understatements - diversions to disempower the eternal mystery that flows within. People confuse words with truth, and produce lies with words.