Enmeshed with commodity culture identity becomes entropic. Once a fluid wonderful thing it begins to lose sense. Fragmented desires pull in infinite directions. The lustful ills of wishing to be defined by the outside world and the other. Pathology. Pure and simple pathology. The irony is that the more one wishes to define oneself the less definition one has. Polish merely hides the cracks which define. Determinism is for those begging to be controlled. A flower in a field defines and differentiates itself purely through its own existence. It does not trick itself into believing it needs to differentiate itself from another. Its universal intelligence born of the cosmos reminds it that it is singular and unique. Beauty comes not from self-ascription but from existing as is, a product of one’s self.