In 1969, Death was often seen in the company of her two brothers, Fear and War. Her veiny tar skin matches her indifference – she doesn’t mind sitting in muddy ditches with soldiers, or waiting for slashed bodies to hit the floor. Death is everlasting and omnipotent; a patient sculpture nobody can outrun or outlast. And yet, there is beauty and divinity in her blackness; her gaze cold but deep, her voice chilling but out of this world. She is never angry, never furious or rageful – her heaviness comes from her lightness. Her embrace will take you to her Ezo world where strings are that of heart and sound echoes off of walls of consciousness. Don’t trust the words of others – Death is never silent as the grave.