plotless, endless

"The cigar, it turned out, was just a cigar; the sand flea just a sand flea. Nature was not 'a grave,' 'a kind parent,' 'a merciless stepmother.' It didn't 'abhor a vacuum,' or 'the old.' Alas, it didn't abhor anyone at all. It just went on, perfectly. If nature was a story, it was a new kind of story: plotless, endless, at once both circular and linear, so vast it seemed not to move at all--a millennium hand, an eon hand--yet everywhere seething with a strange and wondrous energy, telling over and over of two great armies folding into each other without rancor or victory ...we couldn't grasp it." -Mark Slouka explores the mysteriously transcendental, and makes a lot of sense.

And if you aren't the bearer of a Harper's subscription.. Well, I suggest you become one.