“Fire travels upwards, and water flows downward.” “However, but,” the sight of the two sumo wrestlers grappling firmly against each other, grabbing with strong arms, is like rafters in a gable roof interlocked high in the sky by the carpenter to fend off the forces of the wind. If they were horses they would be animals, but because they are not horses, they are not animals either. If force is applied through movement, even water will vaporize, and head upwards.

“After a while, what is on the bottom will flip to the top.” “Nonetheless,” the backs of the two people, pulled tightly together to the point of creaking by each other’s strength, are like an instrument, which pants, only able to manage a certain sound. The sweat runs down like a waterfall, and several red, swollen welts pop up upon the side. If it is afternoon, it is not evening. Because it is the afternoon, the shutters may be closed.