It's dark, cold, but never silent. The lightless sky spurs the romantic artists' desires.   A secret bounty of the subject’s alter ego. They never remember the surprising well of suppressed concepts that were too shy for the eyes of those with normal hours. It haunts those without the constant noise of growth in their mind. I used to be jealous of the peace, but as the years pass I understand that they are also burdened. For their silence grows loud during the day with voices of dissatisfaction that they can never place. I enjoy the dastardly chaos of the night. With a pain heightened while the ribbons of blue dance above me.- “Late” page 13