Trish is juggling her abstract ideas. She is ignorant of the individual. She is measuring the patterns in the crop circles. Trish is a great fish out of water. She flops from side to side creating her reality. I cut her open and remove her air sack. Now she just floats down to the bottom. She is an animal trying to remember human speech. She has grown legs and crawls up out of the water. She has found that it is not always necessary to forgive others although she has forgiven me every time. My love for her was a bullet that went astray. It had something to do with her compassion for all the living creatures. She saw beauty in all of the evil. The evil is defined by our life as a machine. We crush the bones of the weak underneath us. We want only that which is impossible. We are timeless and eternal. Trish could not reconcile herself with the world so she turned the world upside down. She created a fiction to help pass the time away. This story she created helped to adjust the world to her. Now the world did not consider her peculiarities as strange and dangerous. Now the world took her in as one of its own. She was the lost child who was found. She was the little lamb that was brought back to the fold. Trish is a piece of art like any other art. Her underlying theme is salvation. The symbols by which she relates herself to the world are exhausted. She detaches the horse from the frame and it hides itself high up in the chandelier. We tried to coax it down, but it was too afraid. This is far more real than reality. The motorized sex borrowed from Darwin. He set up his camera and took precise measurements. We named the horse war and folded it up and put it away for death. Trish dug the trenches around the building and turned on the hose to fill them with water. I see the emergence of this great new empire of darkness.