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Everyone can taste sugar. But do you know all of the elements that make up sugar, and the flavour of each element alone? And what if you could? Would this ability – no, not ability – necessity, inescapable necessity to dissect that which is sugar, make your experience of sugar any more pleasurable? Or would it distract you to the point of no longer tasting sugar at all, but instead the acids and other less than savoury elements simultaneously, each flavour, and each flavour within each flavour, vying for dominance until you are gagging, choking and gasping for air... until sugar is no longer sugar, but something awful and confusing and impossibly complex, infecting your tongue and your body and finally your brain until all you want is water?

But what is in the water? What is it made of and where did it come from and why does it hurt? What depths of horror... black, revolting, deadly horror might one experience were ones base ingredients not sugar, but, perhaps, ash, or metal, or blood?

Ophelia drowned, they say... drowned herself, herself drowned, drowned in senses, drowned in sounds, drowned in voices, unhappy and unheard.

We are machines, all of us...

And what doe a machine do when too much is assigned to it? When too much coal, too much ink, too much information, is forced violently through its channels?

Why, it stutters, it chokes, and finally, it shuts down.

Where do they put the broken machines? There is only one place.