Do I communicate clearly? Well, do I need to? I resist the idea that I must communicate anything coherent at all – talk less of communicating anything clearly. I exercise the existential liberty to be a bumbling fool, and stand on my rights as an arbitrary evocation of consciousness to be radically absurd. I refuse to be tamed by order, by sanity, by understanding, by logic, by considerations of moral consequence, or by utility. I am more than light and darkness; a drunken ribbon of possibility caught in an equally intoxicated wind. I am a star pregnant with her own destruction, a supernova about to implode into a billion particles of untethered hymn-notes – waiting for new songs to enchant, to make coherent – if need be. I am free. Damn it. I am free. Without excuses.