The prophecy is still decipherable here: www.routledge.com/Human-Genes-...

To my friends then: You are a comet, you are a friend- you are an anagram of death stars codified in speech that only Plato knew could make a beautiful city.

is a clay still to be moulded, a phusis in need of love, care, a conversation, a speech, a poem, a beer, a coffee, a pound of flesh that carries all of heaven’s secrets.

We die in every heartbeat, every glimmer of hope after listening to a friend, hope that you will die like a comet at a moment’s notice, or the bidding of a cosmos. With all the grief and regrets that one day decided to precede you, all that remains, you assure yourself,

How to become a comet—that’s what draws us to enjoy, with all its ironies, the glorious passing of a year now drawing to a close. We enjoy it by leaving a trail of light shared with families and friends- a comet isn’t a phusis, but a crafting, a teche, a poiesis, a mode of dying.

first ageing, then that sudden outbursts of light until that one last dash to become an eternal stone- a comet whose light in the sky catches only the eyes of the living.

to breathe through his mind, to embrace the infinite. But there he forgot it - he became eternal, he died many times over; every second, his mind sped through the velocity of time, as fast as the light could go, at the seams unmindful of the complement of its speed-