I Don't Want Rest. I Want Resolve.

Bleeding Purples and Musical Dissonance in the Absence of Answers

When “Resolve” Won’t Answer, prose

In the biting cold of night, when the air is crisp and unforgiving, and the shadows envelop everything in its shroud, you find yourself standing coat-less on the porch steps of Resolve's house, knocking until your knuckles grow numb, waiting to be let in. But alas, no one comes to the door, despite the movement you see …