meat-space incarnation

embarassed to admit I have nothing to say, nothing to offer. as I restate above the effulgence of Whitman: nothing to offer but the self. is this a monstrous fantasy of ego-stormed lameness, or is it an ultimate Truth? what more do we have. and offering the self, the complete risk and instability of change brings us to a flash-point of presence and being? or simply to the mundane facing of Other in their inscrutable meat-space incarnation. what more do we have, what more can we do?