To Furtive Niona : Oh, miserably do I pick up the pen once more. To think, exscient I was, this exercise ever brought me any mote of joy or satisfaction! How could anyone descry these limp squiggles of ink and find in this anything but locus of limitation and confusion? I have begun this piece in the posture of a rant, then proceeded accordingly — and that alone is evidence enough of the…