London Is An Endless Skirmish Between Angles

Subby Subby Subby," Whispered Goss. "keep Those Little Bells On Your Slippers As Quiet As You Can. Sparklehorse And Starpink Have Managed To Creep Out Of Apple Palace Past All The Monkeyfish, But If We're Silent As Tiny Goblins We Can Surprise Them And Then All Frolic Off Together In The Meadow Of Happy Kites.

Old Stories Would Tell How Weavers Would Kill Each Other Over Aesthetic Disagreements, Such As Whether It Was Prettier To Destroy An Army Of A Thousand Men Or To Leave It Be, Or Whether A Particular Dandelion Should Or Should Not Be Plucked. For A Weaver, To Think Was To Think Aesthetically. To Act - To Weave - Was To Bring About More Pleasing Patterns. They Did Not Eat Physical Food: They Seemed To Subsist On The Appreciation Of Beauty.

Anything For Gold And Experience.

In Time, In Time They Tell Me, I'll Not Feel So Bad. I Don't Want Time To Heal Me. There's A Reason I'm Like This. I Want Time To Set Me Ugly And Knotted With Loss Of You, Marking Me. I Won't Smooth You Away. I Can't Say Goodbye.

You Can't See The Future, There's No Such Thing. It's All Bets. You'll Never Get The Same Answer From Two Seers. But That Doesn't Mean Either Of Them's Wrong.