Perhaps this is the only real evil left.

Get thee behind me, tragedy.

You never know the palette of the one you kill until the mind disgorges its finest colours.

We are predators, whose all-seeing eyes were meant to give them detachment.

What is fear after all? It is indecision. You seek some way to resist, escape. There is none.

as they die, the ones we love, we lose our witnesses, our watchers, those who know and understand the tiny little meaningless patterns, those words drawn in water with a stick. And there is nothing left but the endless flow.

Oh, my darling, wish you were here! And my dark soul is happy again, because it does not know how to be anything else for very long, and because the pain is a deep dark sea in which I would drown if I did not sail my little craft steadily over the surface, steadily towards a sun which will never rise.