Pretty much the only ones who may be even slightly interested in reading these books (The Hole, A Time Alone, and Part Insomnia [written, just not yet published]) are (1) empaths or those afflicted with too much visceral understanding and (2) those who live with the experience of loss and grief. It just may be that that perpetual everyday line from the twenty-third psalm, Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, is also the albatross from Coleridges Rime of the Ancient Mariner those within the grasp of loss and grief wear every day, without being able to remove it or withdraw from it. We are a scarred outcast community of pariahs, forever in the gauntlet, and now forever aware of destiny’s hand.
