Those are the Shreaking Eels / detail 1 / detail 2 / detail 3 / detail 4
  I When I try to figure out how I feel about certain things I am at a total loss. I’m not talking about complicated social or moral issues, I’m talking about simple things. Am I
  ready for bed? Did I enjoy that dinner party on Saturday? Do I feel happy? It should be easy, I mean, I’m not relying on anyone else, I should have all the information I need
  and yet I still find it difficult.
  It’s like I’m a 15th century surgeon, a body on the operating table in front of me, and I’m reaching in and pulling out this bit or that. At the end of each dissection I may have
  made a cut here and poked a bit there, labeled a few new shapes, but I am no closer to understanding the function of the whole. In fact, I’m more confused than ever.
  When I was a kid I used to go to this summer camp type thing every summer. It was a massive place. I remember one time my friend Billy brought me a glass of orange juice
  from all the way on the other side of the camp. He was a lovely guy. He had to carry it over the soccer field, around the basketball and tennis courts, through the boat house
  and up about seven flights of stairs. By the time he handed me the glass he had spilled more than half of it. As I drank it, he said, “You know Fionn? The more you spill, the
  less you spill.”