My name is not Igel

In this day and age genesis is usually a blinking cursor against an invisible rainbow we call white. Perhaps it is a metaphor of our sense of entitlement. We understand collectively that the most moving piece of what-have-you is always out there, ripe for the taking, if only our fantasies of effortlessness could come to life and draw out the revolutionary from the inanimate. We are unconsciously aware of our proximity to a divine threshold. Disappointment is what most vividly ascertains this premise. Few things are more disappointing than a sample of a human intellectual endeavor bearing a great title; we feel, at some level, that the one responsible reaches out aimlessly towards that which they can not truly posses. A great title is a portrait of the divine and that which follows is tainted by an ignorant and overzealous limited mind.