a dead man falls from the outer land its existence diminishing right when all was close at hand the surreal landscape that had closed his heart had opened his eyes to freedom and art the vast wasteland that nhow lay before him was to be his home for many a millenium no longer were there people with whom to deal with an artists paradise now lay within arms reach so here was his freedom to some a hell but to an introverted artist it's as a rose smells sweet
