I love the real as much as the artificial or synthetic. When I look at the grass, I love it; but when I notice that a beer-can has been discarded on the grass next to my neighbor's shed, I love this beer-can too: it's an indication that the planet was once inhabited. And now I see, near the roof of my neighbor's shed, that there's a sizeable hole, probably chewed by rodents — this is love at first sight: this hole is a mysterious place, from which God-knows-what might emerge into the atmosphere.
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