She thought about the mysteries of life as often as man thought about sex. On a wet Saturday afternoon the tin of her heart wondered if there was a difference between the mysteries and sex. And in a hurricane of this thought she came to blows with the vanity of her mystery and she wrestled her way into a novel world. A blank canvas, that was in fact a reworking, not truly blank but blocked out by pitch paint. She did not know if she would scratch the pitch paint to reveal its mystery or if she would paint a new one.
So she thought of Mary Magdalene and the Wizard of Oz
and now you see her dilemma