Yesterday he ripped a small blank page from one of his notebooks and folded it in half, to use as a bookmark. The shape of the white paper--with the crenellation running along its top--pleased him greatly, especially when he stood it up on his worktable. The next day, he built the page again out of plywood, this time making it twenty times as large as before. Even while he was painting it white, he was beginning to find himself deeply disturbed by its simplicity, by its morphological purity. Indeed, the more he gazed upon his perfect white wall, the more upset and angry he became. In the end, the whiteness of the wall prevailed while he, its maker, began to go mad. Eventually, he turned into a rushing, feral creature, continually mocked by the perfection of what he had made.
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