her mind is a chaosof bright lights and the voices of titans and the written word is the backbone of orderholding up against her storms, a pillar of glyphs. their world is a labyrinthentangled in the faces of their angelsand the songs of their dancersin a tongue beyond the grip of her chemistrythe spark for their fire engulfs her.  her art is a sciencein ambiguity, the preciousness of printed thingsmum to the world as they sleep in the stones,like her, alien to anyone but the strangers who dream in color