Death doesn’t exist for the immortals; they dance around the fire and burn with it; live in lightning, in the meteors, in the stars as they explode. They’re pious and sing to us, tearing us apart; they take us gently by the hands and throw us to the black hole. I know just a few; I meet them little by little on my path, but when I have them face to face, I burn in their flame. I carry their balm in my soul. What would we do without the immortals?