I am a musician and, because I would not compromise my love in any sensible way, I am slowly going deaf. Furthermore, when I look around, I see those who love to write are finally twisted into madness by an obsession with stories, and I see great lovers meeting the consequences of playing cat's cradle with human relations. Everywhere I see artisans and athletes permanently damaged by the pursuit of their craft. What we love will slowly kill us. And yet, the alternative, the constant preservation of the self from pleasure and involvement, elides into a cowardice about life, and, in the end, it is the cowardice that will kill us.