One Forgets That One Is One. I

And Where There Is No Echo There Is No Description Of Space Or Love. There Is Only Silence.

The Thread Has Snapped. No Sound Even To Mark The Breaking Let Alone The Fall. That Long Anticipated Disintegration, When The Darkest Angel Of All, The Horror Beyond All Horrors, Sits At Last Upon My Chest, Permanently Enfolding Me In Its Great Covering Wings, Black As Ink, Veined In Bees' Purple. A Creature Without A Voice. A Voice Without A Name. As Immortal As My Life. Come Here At Long Last To Summon The Wind.

I Do Not Know Anything About Art With A Capital A. What I Do Know About Is My Art. Because It Concerns Me. I Do Not Speak For Others. So I Do Not Speak For Things Which Profess To Speak For Others. My Art, However, Speaks For Me. It Lights My Way.

Losing The Possibility Of Something Is The Exact Same Thing As Losing Hope And Without Hope Nothing Can Survive.

I Must Read. I Must Read. I Must Read.