'pity this busy monster, manunkind'pity this busy monster, manunkind,not. Progress is a comfortable disease:your victim (death and life safely beyond)plays with the bigness of his littleness--- electrons deify one razorbladeinto a mountainrange; lenses extendunwish through curving wherewhen till unwishreturns on its unself.A world of madeis not a world of born --- pity poor fleshand trees, poor stars and stones, but never thisfine specimen of hypermagicalultraomnipotence. We doctors knowa hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hellof a good universe next door; let's go
If you haven't read cummings' The Enormous Room, do it. Now.
And if you read The Enormous Room it'll show. It will be reflected in your face.
A new sympathy for the one in your crowd mist picked on in will shine out from your eyes;
and a new glow of awe when the bullied sings like an angel, when the room is quiet and one is listening
You'll love your world more than you already do.