One Forgets That One Is One. I

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.

Even The Brightest Magnesium Flare Can Do Little Against Such Dark Except Blind The Eyes Of The One Holding It. Thus One Craves What By Seeing One Has In Fact Not Seen.

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

One Forgets That One Is One. I Must Try To Remember This.

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