Van Gogh,

if he disappeared into the landscapes he painted,

as Kurosava claims,

can he not come out and bathe us all in the illumination of colour?

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And what is the final resting place of orphaned blood if not the memoirs of a madman who would not differentiate love from revolution?

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Is it also true, on this self same street, just next to the Poignant Café they sell an aphrodisiac called "Beyond the Point of Laughter"?

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When silence is chosen is the recipient necessarily robbed of words?

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If loving is giving, how is it that lovers can never resist the comfort and agony of jealousy?

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What kind of prison notebooks do goldfish write and with what compassion do they eye our incarceration?

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Will the story of the hare and the tortoise ever go out of fashion and will we ever learn that it is about the games that lovers play?

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