Rimbaud, Satie and Dali are partly to blame. A new stage, voyeuristic, reflective, dreamlike; love, beauty, humour, and death remain; experiments continue, so many shades in the spectrum. "…By the time she ushered me up Like a wild brumby Half wanting to be tamed By the time her eyes pierced mine By the time her liquid mouth Reached for mine It was too late And not late enough For a miracle For a flood We traced and scanned each other Like two 3D printers Sculpting wishes Making something real With fakery and witchcraft…"