No Gunfire, Famine, Or Flies. Just Lots

The Thread Has Snapped. No Sound Even To Mark The Breaking Let Alone The Fall. That Long Anticipated Disintegration, When The Darkest Angel Of All, The Horror Beyond All Horrors, Sits At Last Upon My Chest, Permanently Enfolding Me In Its Great Covering Wings, Black As Ink, Veined In Bees' Purple. A Creature Without A Voice. A Voice Without A Name. As Immortal As My Life. Come Here At Long Last To Summon The Wind.

Beautiful Women Are Always Drawn To Men They Think Will Keep Them Beautiful.

Everyone Loves The Dream But I Kill It.

Maybe You Saw Her First? Caught A Glimpse Between The Lines, Between The Letters, Like A Ghost In The Mirror, A Ghost In The Wings?

Explanation Is Not Half As Strong As Experience But Experience Is Not Half As Strong As Experience And Understanding