I'm structured into stasis, they say, frozen into space and time, they say. And yet they can't explain my verbal movement towards openness and complexity. What am I then? They don't say, of course. These words you read, these lines you see, they exist only as you perceive them into existence. This life you claim is not an object of matter, but a process of processes, an infinite regression into variety, a continuous transformativity only glimpsed through words and thoughts, a transformativity that escapes the static freeze of your self. I transgress enclosure, transcend transcendence and dissolve into the unfathomable immanence of immeasurability. And it may come as a surprise, but so do you!