- 'music Opens Your Soul, Makes You

Oh, I've A Love, A True, True Love, Who Waits Upon Yon Shore... And If My Love Won't Be My Love, Then I Will Live No More.

The Sun Has Blessed You," Sarita Used To Say. "look How He Has Left His Kisses On Your Face For All To See And Be Jealous." "the Sun Loves You More," I Said, Rubbing My Hands Over Her Dry Arms, The Color Of An Aged Wine Gourd, And She Laughed. But This Is Not India And We Are Not Prized For Our Freckles Here. The Sun Is Not Allowed To Show His Love.

You Are Working Up To Mr. Fantastic Fiction Levels Of Zombie Expert, Which Is Like Playing Guitar Hero On Some Level That Actually Melts The Guitar Controller, Burning Your Fingers With Searing Hot Plastic Till You Scream In Pain. Only With Words. And Zombies.

Can We Really Conquer Chaos So Easily? If That Were So, I Should Be Able To Prune The Pandemonium Of My Own Soul Into Something Neat And Tidy Rather Than This Maze Of Wants And Needs And Misgivings That Has Me Forever Feeling As If I Cannot Fit Into The Landscape Of Things.

Oh, Sure. Of Course, They Say Now That We’ve Got Freud And The Motorcar, God Is Dead.” “he’s Not Dead; Just Very Tired.