• Here I sit, in a country that is not my own, among friends... among strangers? The world has made a mockery of my efforts, slinging words with a cruel tongue and wicked intentions. Where is the essence of sanity? Where once the gods purveyed fortune there is now only desolation, for this nameless beast eats the flame and spits it out, a rising tide that strips away my masterpiece stroke by stroke, its canvas rent apart and left in soiled bits that wilt and slip away...

    I am an orchid in the rose garden, dwarfed by incomparable beauty. Thorns may rend apart, bleed the soul of man down to the last pitiful dredge and still... still I wait, open wide and hollow to the core.