A celebration of insignificance, Is that all we are in the end? And one day I’ll just be one more of those faces, frozen in death and wonder

I have to feel what I'm writing, right down to the core.

Ambition is not a dirty word. Piss on compromise. Go for the throat.

And over it all, the butterflies swarmed, like a million yellow-pettalled flowers dancing on swirling winds.

I love you still, but with your death I succumbed to a kind of infatuation. I convinced myself that what you and I had, so very briefly, was of far vaster and deeper import than it truly was. Of all the weapons we chose to turn upon ourselves, guilt is the sharpest, Silverfox. It can carve one's own past into unrecognizable shapes, false memories leading to beliefs that sow all kinds of obsessions.

Never, dear gods. Never mess with mortals.

I warn you all, hatred is finding fertile soil within me. And in your compassion, in your every good intention, you nurture it.