Melancholia as a black sun, as if blackness can be dazzling, just as extreme cold can sometimes feel hot. It carries no pain, no feeling or explanation, beyond any colour or sound and yet you can't bear to face it, only wanting to turn away, to lose yourself in the crepuscular but charged and mythic worlds surrounding that centre devoid of all connection to the known, but you keep turning back towards it, to its unmoving and all-encompassing refusal.