The etheriform wins the bet

Where am I? Who am I? I feel so acutely this evening, the blood that runs in my veins. Tonight is the kind of night I rush to feel something worth holding in my arms. I am tender and selfish.

The sky is full of squalor, silvery-white clouds passing by in columns and vague shapes my memory tries to recall; the pale sky stars are, I know, merely the long-traveled beams of far-away explosions, novas and supernovas in hot gas vapor blizzards. Elsewhere I look up and see only the same dark I see when I sleep, only there here seems some color, some life-blood to inspire a splendorous awe. What that God must have made this! And for whom? Am I to see all this? It's too great for me.