Jack has been called the graveyard for poetic souls. Wonders abound. Tranquility. Beauty. One’s breath is taken away. For a while. But then it starts to set in. What is all this about? Wonder does not answer the question. Poetry avoids the truth… Jack has been called a lonely place by tourists. Animals seem to live side by side with each other without fear. The lion sleeps with the lamb. Creatures have no need for each other. There are no predators. No victims. It is a planet empty. Of fear. And this emptiness gnaws away at the soul. It is the abyss. Without our demons, what will protect us from the greater terror? Being alive? Being here? Without a reason.