Now it happens to one of mine: the vessel of the self falters and fails. Lost and hidden things arrive unbidden and bring nonsense, a beautiful absurdity. I wear masks, each one handed to me with the instruction to cover my face, avoid mirrors, feel the weight of my body on the cheap cushion holding it. When the mask is dropped, I realize that there is still too much locked away, that the mask hides little of consequence. These are our final collaborations. I have heard reports from this frontier, and I find it much as it has been described.
