Rejecting fame, that evanescent exhalation of a fickle crowd, turning away from fortune, that wretched substitute for worth, Narcissus-X plunges to the depths of the void.
For it is in the abyssal depths that pinnacles of dream may be found: apparitions of wonder and delight that may sweep away the relentless toll of drab, dreary, depressingly dank drabs of disgust dripping from dingy doorhandles.
Such suffering as the artist must endure! Yet Narcissus-X will not turn back. Stepping boldly off the precipice of prudence, Narcissus-X plunges through the grotto of velvet coal, into caverns of crystal oblivion.