Life imitates art imitating life, informed by forms assembled in response to mythic heroes, petty childhood taunts. An empty canvas duels a palette knife; keys under fingers grapple, twist and slip. A thought - the ball in play that arcs to earth, the soap dropped in the bath - well, is it worth the crush of bodies or the long, cold drip? Yet long before they tell you where the zone lies at the end of long green fields, you know the screen, the cloudy waters are a veil dividing you from what you've always known: that victory is not a place you go but what stays locked inside you if you fail.