There are moments in life, in which the pieces of puzzle come to meet each other and shape a form. What always fluttered to be the secret, reveals upon the swollen edges and flees away, leaving the embodied corpse heavy in your hands. Something spoils, something rebels: the rambler ghost of past in future disguise. The form is always the form of a Will.

There are moments in death, to which the puzzle breaks into pieces. The umbrella falls down. The in-formation drops dead. This is where the vast de-solate bed lies to lie back and de-think the time.