This is an ongoing project I've been working on, off and on, for quite some time now. The subject's not a shallow one. The Fool is not the same as a fool. (Oubliette: literally, “a little place of forgetting”; an underground prison cell usually with room only to stand or crouch, accessed solely by a small opening just large enough to drop the prisoner through and high enough to render the prisoner unable to reach it, letting no light enter. The common practice was to deposit the prisoner there and “forget” about him, leaving him there to starve and go mad in the darkness. It was sometimes used for torture, leaving the prisoner in total darkness and silence for days, then dragging him out into bright light for questioning.) Oubliette Embracing darkness, you seek escape, clamor, chaos. Forgotten, forsaken, hiding in sighing silence harkening solely to daemons within, savoring the perversity of pain. Harried by hell hounds, pale flanked, red eared, silent snarl and bared fangs. All Annwfn awaits, yet you seek a narcotic nether world, dreamless, dolorous. Despite the Cwm Annwn, you dray deeper, farther down, heavy with despondence’ harsh harvest fools’ courage of despair driving you deeper into the dark delusion in defiance of the hounds harrying, herding. Sustained by pain Searing, subsuming, saturating. Life and hope banished; only the madness of memory remains in the depths of your chosen darkness. Fool. Sleep, you seek, the Fata Morgana, promising false peace. There is no rest for the unrequited. Refusing to reach, spurning the soaring gift already in your hands even as the tower trembles, tumbles nine swords pinion your wings, wielded by Treacherous Regret your chosen lover, forever false, faithless. Fool. You choose bitter dark dregs from the eight cups, spurn sparkling nectar from One.