No man is an island.
But, woman certainly can be.


True solitude is an art, and I, an artist at heart and by nature.
To truly close off one's heart and oneself...
to shut out every unwanted sensory perception...
to remain tight-lipped and exist in numbness...
to disappear from view...
to perfect these crafts takes years of dilligent practice,
of which I have had many.
Solitude, isolation, and vanishing are beautiful, don't you see?
How can you not see the beauty in it?
It abounds. It is plenty. It is real and raw.
Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra, when did we become one, you and I?
Was it in childhood that we were bound to exist as such?
Was it developed with the passing of time?
I have never met you,
I do not even know who you are,
yet somehow, we are one in the same.

I, the artist, shall now paint myself with my favorite medium: invisibility.
It's beautiful. It's beautiful. IT'S FUCKING BEAUTIFUL.