It is a strange game we all play with ourselves where we hide those truths that possess us and in their place assert shallow caricatures of ego and two-dimensional superficiality and by the bonfire of all these vanities we shelter as though the flames and chaos were not really harming us all in profound and irrevocable ways. As it turns out, being aware of this is itself a terrible and lonely burden; every joy of ignorance masks a sorrow of knowledge, every experience of belonging obscures a simultaneous rejection and isolation. We are each and all as much what we are not as what we are and every aspiration towards freedom comes at a terrible cost; freedom to self-define becomes itself the chains by which this knowledge traps us. We can not obtain emancipation by possession of self, of other or any thing at all because to own, to frame and to define is to be imprisoned forever by that which we desire. It is an unforgiving labyrinth of self that we would all do much better to be without.