Not dead, but gone before.

Non amittuntur, sed praemittuntur.

Friends, I live, but like a hot shade in the cold light of day. I flit and burn fitfully, my estate plundr'd and my heart wracked on shoals these six months past, keeled by ill fortune and malice. My canvas is rent, my mast cracked and sent to the bottom by lightning and fire.

Do not look for me in this Life: I cannot yet return. My home in Orion is obliterated and forever lost, all links sunder'd and property forsworn. O wasteland of fury and despair. O miserly hope and deceitful longing.

I say I burn; my face blazes with shame and self-hatred. I am wounded to the core and left half-dead of disgrace, discountenanced by trenchant lies. Unworthy opponent, his black name sickens me. All sweetness and felicity that ever passed his teeth I now abhor: he has poisoned even poetry. Viper, worm!

My wrath writhes within my bowels: I cannot yet return. I cannot bear my friends see my face awry with rancour. Suffer me to drift awhile and aloof to nurse my foolish wounds at sea. When I regain my direction I shall come to shore and make amends.

Kind Osprey, Enjah, Persephone, Pablo, Pighed and HBA: you are ever in my thoughts, bright suns beyond my storms.