Writing is a vehicle. Through which moving means I attain the central nervous system at the emotional core of truth. Mine. Myth making, and dreams: it is what we all do, every waking second, as we second guess our natures and each other. We paint lavish pictures on each other, pulling response upon response of involvement – through eyes thick with conviction. And what we see is what phantasms flash behind our brains in front of our eyes. We see our own fiction.

And I – have seen, that this is so. And have embarked on the painting.