will was   will was but nothing neglected in us, the nisus that ruptured us, and left these tiny fatuous scratches on the dull surface of facticity, the walls of God's grand hotel Hell, just listlessly dismal glyphs from these feeble fated arms, Venus' fingers shaped to hold or annihilate, to beat silent against the void where man's holy logos never left the puniest trace - just all this gibberish about freedom, determinism and fate. the whole of history and all our ancestries are written in me, just the tiniest discolouration on a faithless God's well-licked plate; and all you wanted to see in me just death's naked face.     - David McLean