Well, my foe, my friend, my reader (you know who you are, darling — no one else reads this rag): It’s finally here, the eve before I throw it all away and end up Northside of everything I love, just to begin it all again. Please, my dearest Heaven, know that the fact that I am here with you today, watching you in this moment as you read Shelley with your ash-covered bare feet upon the wardrobe, proves that I really did come back from this and will again, eternally. There is no way to escape the destiny that has locked me here, after going there, and heading there again. One day the ouroboros might finish eating itself; and if it does, I pray that my flesh is the tail in your teeth.
A last time, for now… I paint a distinction for the dying onto the cathedral walls: What defines the powers of nobility? A lover and his cannibal?
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