Applause Is The Beginning Of Abuse

He Was His Own Leftover, The Spat-out Scrag. He Was What His Brain Could Make Nothing Of.

There Is No Better Way To Know Us Than As Two Wolves, Come Separately To A Wood.

This House Has Been Far Out At Sea All Night, The Woods Crashing Through Darkness, The Booming Hills, Winds Stampeding The Fields Under The Window Floundering Black Astride And Blinding Wet Till Day Rose; Then Under An Orange Sky The Hills Had New Places, And Wind Wielded Blade-light, Luminous Black And Emerald, Flexing Like The Lens Of A Mad Eye.

That's The Paradox: The Only Time Most People Feel Alive Is When They're Suffering, When Something Overwhelms Their Ordinary, Careful Armour, And The Naked Child Is Flung Out Onto The World. That's Why The Things That Are Worst To Undergo Are Best To Remember. But When That Child Gets Buried Away Under Their Adaptive And Protective Shells—he Becomes One Of The Walking Dead, A Monster.

The Wolf Is Living For The Earth.