And so where else could we possibly begin our sylvan exploration? You have to face what's past before you face the mirror and kill your mother because your father's long been dead. There's nothing to hand down anymore, to successive generations except for this unruly depiction of nothing.

What you see here represents no real thing and that is unsettling. I know. A dog is no longer a dog and neither is a picture of a dog, so exactly what bone are we chasing? And who the hell are we, now that the question's been raised?

I sit here alone. I speak for no one. I speak for nobody because I have no body.