They deny it because they cannot see it. Oh, the eyes, that by seeing so much blind us. Look, I say, your face smeared with mud that nobody cleans is loneliness. Touch the mud, it's real, it's on your face because you are alone. But my patients are concrete and want a object to spit on, to attack, to blame. And then I understand why man created God. To kill him and force him to save us. To put face and blood to this fear cowering on the left, which some call heart.