This Great Blue World Of Ours Is

Some People Reflect Light, Some Deflect It, You By Some Miracle, Seem To Collect It.

Love Of Love Written By The Broken Hearted, Love Of Life Written By The Dead.

Tom Gets By, Navidson Succeeds. Tom Just Wants To Be, Navidson Must Become. And Yet Despite Such Obvious Differences, Anyone Who Looks Past Tom's Wide Grin And Considers His Eyes Will Find Surprisingly Deep Pools Of Sorrow. Which Is How We Know They Are Brothers, Because Like Tom, Navidson's Eyes Share The Same Water.

The Finest Act Of Seeing Is Necessarily Always The Act Of Not Seeing Something Else.

My Hands Resemble Some Ancient Tree: The Roots That Bind Up The Earth, The Rock And The Ceaselessly Nibbling Wordms.