Metaphors Are Our Way Of Losing Ourselves

They Could Read Him, They Could Study Him, They Could Pick Him Apart, But They Couldn't Laugh Or Be Sad With Him.

I Steal Into Their Dreams," He Said. "i Steal Into Their Most Shameful Thoughts, I'm In Every Shiver, Every Spasm Of Their Souls, I Steal Into Their Hearts, I Scrutinize Their Most Fundamental Beliefs, I Scan Their Irrational Impulses, Their Unspeakable Emotions, I Sleep In Their Lungs During The Summer And Their Muscles During The Winter, And All Of This I Do Without The Least Effort, Without Intending To, Without Asking Or Seeking It Out, Without Constraints, Driven Only By Love And Devotion.

Literature + Illness = Illness

The American Mirror, Said The Voice, The Sad American Mirror Of Wealth And Poverty And Constant Useless Metamorphosis, The Mirror That Sails And Whose Sails Are Pain.

The Sky, At Sunset, Looked Like A Carnivorous Flower.