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CyberMonday sale has been EXTENDED 1 more day, on all 3D prints in my Shapeways shop, plus free shipping! 💥Post a photo 📸 of your purchase on social media with the hashtag #MechanicalWhispers and/or tagging mechanical_Whispers_Store, and you’ll get $5 💵 off your next purchase! 🤩

Robert will have a print of his newest drawing of Darenzia on display at the Museum of Porn in Art in Zurich Switzerland for the Pornsaints exhibition.

With Aunia Kahn, Ellen Stagg, Francesco D'Isa, Giuseppe Petrilli, Italia Ruotolo, Jeff Faerber, Katelan Foisy, Kris Wlodarski, Molly Crabapple, Natalie Shau, Natsuki Otani, Pamela Tait, Robert Morris, Steven Johnson Leyba, Yana Moskaluk, Zoe Lacchei und Zoë Corleone.

Opening: Friday the 23rd of July 2010 at 8 p.m. at Edi's Weinstube, Stuessihofstatt 14 in Zurich.
Some of the artists will be present

Exhibition: 24.7.-19.8.2010 Mon.-Thu. from 11.00-24.00 hours, Fri. and Sat.
from 11.00-02.00 hours and Sun. from 14.00-22.00 hours.

A catalog is available here:…

Read more:…

Read more:…
Robert Morris's video work will be featured at PURGATORY this weekend, along with Voltaire, Brothers Quay, and other amazing filmmakers.

DAMNED proudly presents a new exhibition of Cinema and Theatre called Purgatory. Held near halfway (6 months) to DAMNED and Devil's Night on May 20-22 2010 at Detroit's Hastings Street Ballroom, Purgatory will present 28 short films deeply introspective, beautifully disturbing and darkly enlightening subject matters from filmmakers local and worldwide.  This is not an industry-focused horror film festival, but a tributary showcase of the often redemptive films from the filmmaker's personal damnations complimented with live experimental performance art on stage during intermissions.

Confirmed special guest filmmakers include: The Brothers Quay, Brian M Viveros, Voltaire, George Higham, Till Nowak, Daniel Askill, Tsubasa, Tomek Baginski, Noam Abta, Yuval Markovich, Robert Morris, Robert Morgan, Bogdan Borkowski, Daniel Zurawski, Patrick Rea, Billie Mintz, Jeffrey Timmins and more...

Michigan special guest filmmakers include Jeff Bloomer, Mike Dereniewski, Robert Joseph Butler, Louis Kerman, Sean Hages, Courtney Spivak, Ryan Burtney and others.

New experimental performances by Satori Circus {All Sat}, Warrior Girl {All Fri}, Xaina, Marcus and more.

Gallery cross media installation by Detronik Surveillance and Studio-X.

Join us in Purgatory as we celebrate within a lush ambiance inspired by film's golden age with Devil Girl usherettes, candy girls and servers along with complimentary gourmet popcorn and specials on refreshing absinthe {and other mixer} slushies!
Limited $10 advance tickets ($15 at the door) are now available online or at Noir Leather (Royal Oak), Showtime (Detroit) and V-Male (Dearborn Heights).  You can also bring in cans of protein (meat, beans, etc) for the Burners Without Borders Detroit food drive and receive good karma plus a $5 discount from the door rate!  A matinee will be on Saturday at 3pm with no live performances for $5 advance or with canned donation.  There is no dress code and 18+ are welcome.
Also, fan us on the Purgatory Facebook Fan Page!

Special and most gracious thanks to our guest film curator Les Barany (NY)!
Robert's work will be exhibited in Austin, TX from March 28th until April 17th as part of the Pornsaints gallery show. Robert will be showing his latest original drawing (a "Pornsaint" portrait of Darenzia), along with his photography, drawings, and video works.…

@ Birdhouse Gallery, 1304 E. Cesar Chavez Austin, TX (USA).
Start: Sunday, March 28, 2010 at 6:00pm
End: Saturday, April 17, 2010 at 6:00pm

Painting, drawing, mixed-media photography and film works by Naomi Arton, B-9, Francesco D' Isa, Jeff Faerber, Katelan Foisy, Michael Forbes, Aunia Kahn, Zoe Lacchei, Steven Leyba, Danny Malbeouf, Robert Morris, Van Rijn, Natalie Shau, Ellen Stagg, Pamela Tait, Andrew Tong, Nathalie Winans and Kris Wlodarski.

Artworks are based upon the idea that porn stars may be "sanctified" by their performances. Pornsaints is an artistic approach to porn, a pornographic approach to art, a pornoartistic approach to religion.

The Porn Church is the art side of porn and the porn side of art. It's a porn-art community, a new wave from internet's gutters, raising to consecrate underground stars. Art needs something naughty, porn need something classy, and here we are.

As D'Isa wrote in his essay "Pornsaints - a brief essay about pornography and transcendence", the definition of a Pornsaint is inspired by many religious concepts and beliefs. It's closer to Mystic and Oriental definitions (Taoism most of all) more than Christian. If God is the most unreachable concept, the saint, being closer to God, renounces human features and identity. A cool separation from the world, like an extreme behavior, is one way to overstep humanity. "...the pornsaint dwells in the house of the saints, but got there traveling a different way, and came in knocking at another door."

We are the Porn Church and we make the Porn Culture. Everything classy is welcome at - vulgarity included.

Company/organisation info: Founded by the artist Francesco D'Isa in early 2007, Pornsaints is based in Italy, and made up of artists from around the world working in an array of mediums ranging from digital video to oil and canvas. Porn stars featured in Pornsaints pieces have included Madison Young, Kylie Ireland, Stoya, Sasha Grey, Kimberly Kane, Charlotte Stokely and Katsuni.

To learn more about our philosophical background, I invite you to read the Pornsaints essay here. To see our artworks and more, please go to
Robert is exhibiting his work at the 11th annual Dirty Show in Detroit, MI as a special guest artist. Friday, February 12th – 20th, 2010.

This year Jerry Vile is joined by 4 guest curators: Les Barany, Zoe Corleone, Tristan Eaton and Genevive Zacconi.

There are over 200 participating artists, including: Krista Acheson, Shawn Barber, Stephen Blickenstaff, Paul Booth, Scott G. Brooks, Vincent Castiglia, Colin Christian, Christian Correra, Molly Crabapple, Camilla D'Errico, Ewelina Ferusso, Michael Hussar, Eric Kroll, A. Owen Layne, Gary Lee, Michael Mararian, Robert Morris, Julian Murphy, Dan Quintana, Celeste Rapone, Rich Rethorn, Paul Rumsey, Annie Sprinkle, Elizabeth M. Stephens, David Stoupakis, Johnny T Yerington, The Dirty Fabulous, Brian Viveros, Chad Michael Ward, Tony Ward, Peggy Wauters and Jasmine Worth.

The Dirty Show
Bert's Warehouse Theater
2739 Russell Street
Detroit, MI
I've been asked to be a part of the Damned Show II in Detroit. If you are in the area around Halloween, please come by and see my work along with a lot of other amazing artists.

On October 29 2009 in Detroit, there will be a congregation of the most controversial fine art artists from across the world to display their darkest of creations at DAMNED II.  From the famous to the freshest of talent, this ominous assembly will exhibit a diversity of artistries from the deeply depraved to the intensely introspective guaranteed to intrigue, disturb, captivate or repulse. This is not Halloween-themed art but a submergence within the shadowed realms of consciousness within an intimate ambiance of haunting ethereal soundscapes, intimate gallery vignettes and cirque-inspired stage performances.

DAMNED II Flyer Back 2Then, on Devil's Night (October 30), we celebrate this artistic submergence with an intimate six-course presentation style dinner of aphrodisiac-inspired cuisine followed by a formal masquerade ball within the milieu of exotic rhythms, floor performances and art.  To nightcap the ball evening, we now welcome the sensuous noir cabaret sounds of Jill Tracy in a rare solo performance.

Feature guest artists are Marilyn Manson and HR Giger! Other special guests include Chad Michael Ward, Christian Correra, Jose Manuel Schmill, Rich Rethorn, Paul Rumsey, John U Abrahamson, William B Hand, JL Robbins, Eli Livingston, Stephen Blickenstaff, Janina Magnussen, Peggy Wauters, Aunia Kahn, Brian Viveros, Gary Lee, Patrick Byers, Krista Acheson, Robert Morris, Viktor Koen, James Allen, Tsubasa and 100+ other artists from all over the world!

Advance tickets (some limited) are on sale now!
Please click on the following 3 links to vote on each of the 3 images I've entered into this contest. Thank you for all your support!

Sculpted Photography  @ Phokki

Ink on Clayboard  @ Phokki

Visual Effects  @ Phokki
The Mechanical Whispers online store has been a long time coming. And it is now finally open! Satisfy all your cravings to own a piece of Robert Morris's creative endeavors from t-shirts to prints to original works of art. Accepted forms of payment are PayPal and Check/Money Order. Just use the handy shopping cart and checkout form.

Spread the word and come back often, as new items will be added periodically. Thanks for your support!…
If there is something to desire,
There will be something to regret.
If there is something to regret,
There will be something to recall.
If there is something to recall,
There was nothing to regret.
If there was nothing to regret,
There was nothing to desire.
                    -Vera Pavlova
Luckily, Elizabeth was there to comfort her when the boy was discovered in the east lawn. His body was dismembered beyond belief and the ground saturated in blood. It was only several years later that we discovered, in a fit of rage over her ill-tempered son, Mary had beat him senseless. Then losing sight of her own sanity, ran him over with the hand mower until his cries ceased. Elizabeth was unnaturally frustrated about the mess.
No matter where you come from. No matter where you are going. We all make the same stops. I just came from a Boris Karloff double feature that a good friend of mine invited me to. It amazes me how filmmakers back then knew exactly what they were doing with this new medium. There are some brilliant things happening in those old black and white "talkies". Gesture. Pause. Stare. So much to be conveyed in such simple devices. Yet how is it that we seem to have devolved since then? It would seem to be easier to move forward since the blueprints have been laid out for us to follow and improve upon. Yet I see a movie like "The Old Dark House" and am reminded of how much we're fumbling around now.

Another night in a quiet place. All I want to do is relax. Yet it seems so hard at this moment. Being awakened at 1:30am to a dear friend's drunk dial is both annoying and reassuring at the same time. I live a life of paradox. And I think all I want right now is to escape it for a moment.
For me, weekends are generally indistinguishable from every other day since I don't have a typical "9-5" kinda job. As a result, I don't make specific "weekend plans" per se. That being said, I do realize there are certain events that only happen on weekends and to experience these events means venturing out with the rest of the weekend warriors. Then again, in NY there are things happening at every moment of every day. Anywho, this past weekend I felt like doing something, had a few vague plans, and not much expectations for the weekend turning into anything too exciting. Friday night turned into a fun night of chilling out at home, talking to myself. I had some great conversations and learned a lot. On Saturday, I had a bachelor party to attend. A good friend of mine whom I've shared many fluids with is getting married in Central Park at the end of the month. And several of the "guys" wanted to take him on a boys night out. So we met up at this great Korean barbeque place in (where else) Korea Town. The food was great and the sake was soothing. Out of all the guys I was meeting for the first time, I was by far the black sheep of the bunch. But this is something I'm used to and since I can have a conversation about pretty much anything, and the guys were all good-natured and ready for a fun night away from the "wives", I soon assimilated with the bunch. (Yes J, I know you will probably be reading this as you are one of my biggest stalkers. I hope it does justice to the night.) Cooking raw meat and seafood on a grill in the middle of the table while drinking cold sake and catching up on the happenings in our lives... it's just a good time.

After dinner that night, we already started to deviate from the original plan of Irish bar hopping. We made our way to the 230-Fifth club on the penthouse level looking out onto the Empire State Building. Now, this is one of those clubs you will walk into, have your breath taken away, then hate yourself for even stepping foot into. It's lavish, decadent, gaudy, and pricey. But not as much as you'd expect for a place like this. The club has a rooftop bar looking out onto most of the city's major skyscrapers. 80's music was piped through speakers and "sex in the city" types were spattered about the plastic palm trees. Aside from the cheesyness, it's one hell of a view. Downstairs is a dark lounge full of comfy sofas and window views. The purple lighting and purple couches gave me the feeling Prince would be around any corner (also reminding me of a very personal dream I had about that man). So as with any new experience, I try to take it all in and make the best of it. I honestly can't wait to go back there for a cocktail with one of my good friends to relax and maybe cause a little trouble. The dark setting and sexy atmosphere really gets my hands roaming. Despite the gaudiness, this club takes advantage of some of the things that make NYC, NYC.

On with the night, as it was apparently an unwritten rule that we don't stay in one spot for more than an hour. After a few phone calls, we were ushered over to the Ten's Gentleman's Club in Gramercy Park, and given the official "bachelor party" VIP treatment. Which basically means we were given an extra smile, a slight discount, and a bit of extra attention by the ladies of the night. The reason I'm going into so much detail, and the reason I am even writing this blog in the first place, is because I wanted to document my first time ever entering a strip club. That's right, after 32 years of being a man I have finally been initiated into the right of passage otherwise known as staring at tits and ass. Now, I've never been to a strip club for a reason. It does nothing for me. I photograph nude models. I create works of art based on the most intimate places in the human body. And as much as I admire the human form, sex is MUCH more than tits and ass for me. So the people who truly know me would have killed to be a fly on the wall for this experience. I was the last to enter the club, and as we were guided to the front table at the edge of the stage, the only seat remaining was with my back to the stage (of course). I actually PREFERRED this seat. I had a blast watching people in the audience, constantly asking the guys next to me what was appropriate behavior (or not) for a place like this. I was like a child visiting the circus for the first time with a tranquilizer gun. "Dancers" would sit down next to me to start a conversation. I'd let them know that this was my first time ever in a strip club and that I was perfectly happy not having a lap dance. They insisted on talking to me, and so we conversed about becoming a funeral director, photo retouching, and good southern cooking. It was quite surreal and I was loving it. Every so often I would look around to watch the rest of the club enjoying the typical fair. Like I said, I make the most out of a situation and not that I would go out of my way to go to a strip club again, but at least my first time was a pleasant one and being in a place of debauchery is never a bad thing for me.

After about an hour we left to go to a neighborhood bar. Definitely less eventful than the rest of the evening, but still a welcome contrast. I love neighborhood bars and the patrons who populate them. It was definitely the most confortable crowd of the entire night. After that, I parted ways with the "guys". They were heading back to Brooklyn to sleep off the nights happenings, and I felt like wandering down to the lower east side for some further adventures. I went down to the Pyramid club to meet up with my best friend Keleigh. I ran into a few people I knew and hadn't seen in a while, had a drink, then made my way out. After Keleigh got her avacado sandwich, we parted ways and I grabbed a slice of "3am pizza" on my way back to Brooklyn... pondering what a great adventure this Saturday turned into.

The next day I was still energized from having experienced so much. I wanted more, and the only one around to share an experience with was myself. So I left my apartment on foot and explored the nearby Green Wood cemetery. Now, I did have ulterior motives for going there. I'm working on an art project and I was collecting... samples for the project. The samples were no where to be found so I just wandered the grounds for about an hour, visiting some places I had never been. I've gone to this cemetery about a dozen times so far and each time I try to visit a new spot. It's so huge I feel like I could keep exploring it and find something new each time. Then again, I find something new in my bathroom every time I visit it. Anywhoo...

After the nice long walk, I went home. I made plans with Keleigh for her to come by later. In the mean time, I spontaneously decided to go to Coney Island by my lonesome for some much-desired clams. I had these clams earlier in the summer at Coney Island and fell in love. I think about them all the time and my mouth waters when thinking about the next time I might experience them. So off I go. I wait in line longer than the train ride to get there. In line, I decide that I want a beer to go with them... especially since I've been waiting so long. Then the bliss of eating them while smelling the salty ocean air combined with the wood of the boardwalk, the scent of cotton candy and french fries, the sounds of really bad karaoke drifting down the boardwalk, and the erotic taste of clams and tartar sauce. I was in heaven for a moment. Then they were gone. So I finished my beer and waited in line again for another round. I was nervous with excitement for my next fix. Then I got them and I was satiated. I went over to the desert stand, got a funnel cake and a bag of cotton candy to go from the coy Russian girl, inhaled one last long breath of Coney Island, and made my way back home. Keleigh came over and we devoured much guacamole, alcohol, and sweets, while having great conversations and watching fantastic movies.

All in all, a weekend worth remembering... and documenting.

Part 2...
Not really a weekend adventure, but still worth remembering. I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge on foot for the first time in my life tonight. This is a memorable event not only because I shared it with the company of a very dear old friend, but also because I am quite afraid of heights. I can't recall if I wrote about this in a previous journal (I imagine I must have) but I have a fascination with my fears. In terms of heights, I love pushing my limits and seeing what my mind can endure. One night, about 7 or 8 years ago when I lived in Queens, I decided to go for a walk at 1am. I walked to the Queensboro Bridge and decided to try and cross it. The cars were rushing by on one side of me, and the drop to the East River was on the other. Nothing separating me from death on either side but a flimsy chain link fence. I walked on, proud of my adventure. But alas, I only made it less than half way. My body started to shake the more my mind wandered as I walked. I realized I was alone, and if I froze up I might not be able to make it home. So my fears got the better of me and I decided to turn around. Tonight, my lover was the Brooklyn Bridge. I was excited to finally explore her. It was dusk and I was in the company of someone I've known (in the biblical sense) for over 10 years. I loved every minute of the crossing. The textures, the smells, the sounds, the people. I know that there are some people who cross this bridge every day of their life. But there is only one first time, and it was magical. Once we crossed, I was guided to Pier 17 for a plush, intimate drink on the water and some amazing conversations. I know (and hope) Ada will be reading this as well and can only say that friends and experiences like this make me feel completely alive and glad I am at the place I am. I feel like I'm doing something right and making the right choices in having such amazing friends who not only can share these incredible experiences with me, but can introduce me to new ones, and vice versa. Nothing should ever be mundane, stagnant, and routine. Even the ordinary is unique every moment of the day if we only take the time to look.
I remember one particular moment as a child of about 9 when I was upstairs in our suburban home, sitting on the carpet, thinking that I was tired of breathing. I was sitting and listening to my body. I was wondering what would happen if my heart needed a break from it's constant beating? If I sleep, why shouldn't all my individual organs as well. How could a heart just keep beating constantly without rest? And then I realized I was breathing heavily and it was getting tiresome. I wanted to just stop breathing for a bit so I could rest. So I held my breath, but that of course was even more tiresome. Last night I had the same feeling come over me. Now, of course, I know better. Stress and anxiety make you feel unnaturally tired. But I began thinking about these thoughts I had as a child. And I wondered if my body would just stop breathing in my sleep. I honestly felt like I was forcing myself to take each breath. And when I fell asleep there would be nothing to keep me breathing. I've certainly been spending too much time left to my own devices.
I love meat. I love to eat it, feel it, smell it, taste it, lick it... I enjoy everything about it. For some reason, in the past several months, I cannot enter a grocery store without spending several minutes in front of the meat section just zoning out. Some unknown force compels me to stop. I have that same look in my eye that I've seen in women walking past a shoe store window. I just have to look and see what's new... what's freshly cut... what new textures and juices are shrinkwrapped for my consumption. I just want to touch it a little bit. My refrigerator is now stocked with meat. I understand that the human body desires meat. We are carnivores. We need the protein that meat provides. But what I don't understand is my new fascination with meat to the point that I actually space out while staring at a large pile of it. I don't need to buy any more at this point. It will start to go bad in my refrigerator because I can't eat it fast enough. Yet there I am again, at the meat counter... at the meat freezer... I am a meat puppet.
There was a time that I believed in the inherent goodness of things unquestioningly. And I feel sad to have lost touch with that. I still know it exists, but I feel too jaded and I often lose perspective. It is the love, honesty, and warmth of my close friends that I cherish and embrace to bring me back to the soul that I strive to be. I suppose it's one of the wonderous things about life's journey to be able to stray off the path... to have that freedom to make mistakes. I only hope it isn't too late to exchange my rancor with something a bit more accepting. I like to think that as long as there is still breath in me, that hope is not lost.

"I do not mean to upset people, but I must speak my mind. For what is in my mind is always more interesting than what is happening in the world outside my mind."  -Earl of Rochester [The Libertine]
How can I just let you walk away,
Just let you leave without a trace?
When I stand here taking every breath... with you.
You're the only one who really knew me at all.

How can you just walk away from me,
When all I can do is watch you leave?
'Cause we shared the laughter and the pain,
And even shared the tears.
You're the only one who really knew me at all.

So take a look at me now,
There's just an empty space.
There's nothing left here to remind me,
Just the memory of your face.
Take a look at me now,
There's just an empty space.
You coming back to me is against the odds,
And that's what i've gotta face.

I wish I could just make you turn around,
Turn around and see me cry.
There's so much I need to say to you.
So many reasons why.
You're the only one who really knew me at all.

So take a look at me now,
There's just an empty space.
There's nothing left here to remind me,
Just the memory of your face.

Take a look at me now,
There's just an empty space.
But to wait for you is all I can do,
And that's what I've got to face.

Take a good look at me now.
'Cause I'll still be standing here.
And you coming back to me is against all odds,
It's the chance I've got to take.

Take a look at me now.
I look forward to the peaceful night, where I lie in bed and ponder the events of the day. There's so much that happens in the course of a day that gets overlooked. So many thoughts that I try to imagine just aren't true. But it is true. Once you open you eyes, it's extremely difficult to ever close them. I lay down and begin to read. And the first thing that I read compels me to throw the book down and write a journal entry. I cannot believe that 60 years ago someone has written the exact words that describe what I am feeling now. If only she were alive today for me to sit in awe in front of her.

The secret of a full life is to live and relate to others as if they might not be there tomorrow, as if you might not be there tomorrow. It eliminates the vice of procrastination, the sin of postponement, failed communications, failed communions. This thought has made me more and more attentive to all encounters, meetings, introductions, which might contain the seed of depth that might be carelessly overlooked. This feeling has become a rarity, and rarer every day now that we have reached a hastier and more superficial rhythm, now that we believe we are in touch with a greater amount of people, more people, more countries. This is the illusion which might cheat us of being in touch deeply with the one breathing next to us. The dangerous time when mechanical voices, radios, telephones, take the place of human intimacies, and the concept of being in touch with millions brings a greater and greater poverty in intimacy and human vision.
- Anais Nin

Especially lately, I have felt the heavy weight of how apathetic people have become. The more I reach out, the more I can feel how little judgement people have about how they choose to spend their time. But why should I care? My needs are selfish, I admit. I enjoy having kindred spirits around me. I enjoy the warmth of solid conversations. It is one of the few elixers that takes my mind off my troubles. But for every 20 lines cast out, maybe one turns up fruitful. Perhaps I am casting too deep. Perhaps my tastes are a bit too refined. I love, just like everyone else. The only difference is...
"Imagine an eye, unruled by man-made laws of perspective. An eye unprejudiced by compositional logic. An eye which does not respond to the name of everything, but which must know each object encountered in life through an adventure of perception."        -Stan Brackhage

Truly words to live by.
The dreams are getting stronger. I'm not exactly sure what is causing the sudden burst in intense emotional dreams, but the occurances are definitely increasing. White hot rage that leaves me awake with a sore throat from how tense my muscles have been during the night. Heart palpatations from how broken I feel after experiencing a lover's devilish lies. I've been extremely productive in the last several days and I am feeling more energized than I have been in a while. But perhaps it's the productive rollercoaster I've been on for the past few months that is finally catching up with my subconscious. One day I'll make an insane amount of progress with projects, errands, knowledge... and the next day I'll be barely able to do so much as to check my e-mail. I am, however, aware that I've had thoughts throughout the day that might be deciding the subject matter for my dreams to play out during the night. I'll catch a glimpse of my father in the mirror, and then have a long, violent screaming match with him in my dreams. I will draw upon a moment from a past relationship and then have this extensive beautiful scene played out in my dreams, only to be haunted at the end of it all knowing she was lying to me with every breath. What's going on? Is my father's spirit returning to torment me? Or is it my own subconscious mind flexing it's muscles? My insomnia is getting worse, too. Ironically. I suppose this could all be anxiety. I've been working on my latest art project for over 2 months now. I've invested a lot of time, energy, and money into it. I have no guaruntee that any of it is going to be worth anything, other than my own confidence in myself. It's a huge weight to bear. But the satisfaction of creating one image is worth it all. Could it be that I am just more focused? In order to create anything of any significance, one has to delve deep into self-reflection and find that core intensity. Look into the abyss and don't turn away. Let the things I never wanted to see again show themselves to me in full view so that I may exorcise them into my work. Ah, the joys of making pretty pictures.
Who dares it, has no courage.
To whom it is missing, feels well.
Who owns it, is bitterly poor.
Who is successful, is damaged.
Who gives it, is as hard as stone.
Who loves it, stays alone.