I sat down in front of the mirror to paint the landscape that is I. There was a cold, cold haze. I looked hard as my eyes tried to pierce the mist but at first all I saw were quickly moving shadows. They were both long and short. A handful, yet uncountable. Then sharper silhouettes began to appear.

I only saw two figures in the gloom when I laid my brush on the canvas. I didn't hesitate to capture them in their wholeness but it didn't seem to make sense. There was something missing of each but there was something more, something that didn't fit either one shape. There was a third.

Now what am I going to do? I've got to make room for one more. I could kill it. No. That wouldn't be right, the picture would fall apart. It barely stands together as it is...

My brush is a scalpel and my canvas is flesh. I cut veins, I dissect hearts, I lobotomize. I put on the most fitting piece I can think of and steady my hand as I listen. I begin mastering the anapest.