Canon
Ampurageon: The loss of a limb in a violent accident caused by a careless person.
Balmora: The growing wilder, more complicated and more personal the fantasies as loneliness increases.
Crusto: When a neighbour clears their throat vigorously while you are meditating.
Fal: Being vulnerable to assimilating the emotions of others.
Huel: Mourning unobtainable perfection.
Huripdes: A person whose methods you would not trust if they had not already made a lot of money.
Jixed: That feeling when the entire future you fantasized of sharing with a person crumbles into nothing when they use incorrect punctuation.
Labing: Watching a coronation on YouTube while a family member vacuums the living room.
Visce: When explaining the significance of an experience causes the realization that you do not actually know why it was significant and the pressure to articulate it erodes its original magnificence.
​I had tried many other ways before that moment. Most notably giving myself over to discipline, that sleek yet heavy creature who knows no other argument but preying on the most delicate tendons of shame. All other conceivable virtues had trotted into my living room, sat down briefly in the frayed armchair and pointed out an interesting facet of the furniture arrangement before indefinitely disappearing via the backdoor. Most never even finished their tea.
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So it was from him, amidst the unfolding of my most secret sorrows, masterfully exerted through methods he had wholly made his own, that I learned the strained and burning effort of lifting fingers from that which I held on to most. Both the desires, whose pursuits consumed my every hour, and the staged history of memories in which I was such an eager actor to play.
Those who roam in solitude find their picture of the world not rooted in the laments of the media, the dialogue of company or the unending labour of their hands. They find it not rooted in anything of the world, but a continuously transforming perspective of the most exquisite beauty and enduring heartache.