In the end our lives come down to a few lines, paragraphs if we are lucky. Wrapped up, packed up, everyone, even the dead part ways, only our documents remain.
These boxes are the documents of a collaborative process, a giving returned, a call responded to, an anonymous communal tale of life in the land speaking to anyone willing to listen.
If our lives are a journey then these themes are our daypacks. Fantasy fraternizes with the inconceivable, a union whose offspring flirts for Truth's favours; Nothing abducts us, taking us where even immortality's feet fail to touch bottom; Beauty's call banishes the superficial, awakening our naïve desire; Blood mingles with power, congealing material legacy; Shape strips things of names and all things known, leaving primal form; and Eros seeks but fails to quench flesh's insatiable lust, compelling pleasure and pain unfathomable.