Life was supposed to be Marilyn Monroe but ended up Marilyn Manson. Possibility as wide as eternity itself seemed to collapse into a cupboard of finger-pointing mirrors. Then, out of an ether that only ever condemned, a rope falls to the gravelly depths of Elliot's purgatory. As he climbs, the universe begins to expand like lungs discovering country air, so much so that its magnitude and grandeur give the illusion of everything slipping farther and farther away. With a history daily unwritten, rewritten, uncertain, slipping and slippery, Elliot knows he must get his arms around the infiniteness of the frameset before what's-her-name is imprisoned in dreams, or, worse yet, effaced entirely.