None Could Guess My Confusion, My Host

Survivors Do Not Mourn Together. They Each Mourn Alone, Even When In The Same Place. Grief Is The Most Solitary Of All Feelings. Grief Isolates, And Every Ritual, Every Gesture, Every Embrace, Is A Hopeless Effort To Break Through That Isolation. None Of It Works. The Forms Crumble And Dissolve. To Face Death Is To Stand Alone.

Ah, Meese Has Brought Us Her Finest Goblets! A Moment, Whilst Kruppe Sweeps Out Cobwebs, Insect Husks And Other Assorted Proofs Of Said Goblets' Treasured Value.

What Matter The Colour Of The Collar Around A Man's Neck, If The Chains Linked To Them Were Identical?

None Could Guess My Confusion, My Host Of Deluded Illusions And Elusive Delusions! A Mantle Of Marble Hiding A Crumbling Core Of Sandstone. See How They Stare At Me, Wondering, All Wondering, At My Secret Wellspring Of Wisdom...' Let's Kill Him,' Crokus Muttered, 'if Only To Put Him Out Of Our Misery.

All Art Is An Intensely Vulnerable Gesture, And It Is Made With No Small Amounts Of Risk, And Fear. So, I Have Plenty Of Sympathy For Self-defense Mechanisms, Especially Among Artists.