"If any man ever dared to translate all that is in his heart, to put down what is really his experience, what is truly his truth, I think then the world would go to smash, that it would be blown to smithereens and no god, no accident, no will could ever again assemble the pieces..." -Henry Miller

Meet Stuart.  A fireman's son.  He has the peculiar ability to promulgate a not false approach to conveying an ugly truth.  And he knows this to be true.  Neither here nor there, yet exceptionally offensive at arms length.  He is a man of guilt yet finds comfort in retribution. I would never trust him with a nickel, but certainly with my life.

But with this being said, I have found myself in the gutter scraping the blackened bits of whales fat from the pavement, grinding my front teeth down to a mass of wet nerves that squirm and glisten when hit by the emissions of light from above.  It is a strange time we exist in.  In a constant state of war, on the brink of a mass suicide.  We kill for no other reason...boredom...or perhaps a filthy opportunity to soft sell the remaining teeth in our heads.  This is the reckoning.  And at the front line is Stuart...with a judicious affectation and a canvas bag full of enamel.