Lost my mind down a rabbit-hole of philosophy, and now am possessed by selections of words that seem to want to get from the inside out. Because, after all, they, whoever they were painted animals on the caves of Lascaux, and, being their son, I've the same need to paint on the World's wall. Badly, no doubt; but as the man with wooden leg said when asked his thoughts on praying, it's a matter of a pinion.