Our History Is An Aggregate Of Last

A Woman Is Only Half Of Something There Are Usually Two Sides To.

If America Was A Person, And It Sat Down, Lancaster Town Would Be Plunged Into A Darkness Unbreathable.

There Are Stories, Like Maps That Agree... Too Consistent Among Too Many Languages And Histories To Be Only Wishful Thinking.... It Is Always A Hidden Place, The Way Into It Is Not Obvious, The Geography Is As Much Spiritual As Physical. If You Should Happen Upon It, Your Strongest Certainty Is Not That You Have Discovered It But Returned To It. In A Single Great Episode Of Light, You Remember Everything.

Some Typewriters In Whitehall, In The Pentagon, Killed More Civilians Than Our Little A4 Could Have Ever Hoped To.

He Was Visited On A Lunar Basis By These Great Unspecific Waves Of Horniness, Whereby All Women Within A Certain Age Group And Figure Envelope Became Immediately And Impossibly Desirable. He Emerged From These Spells With Eyeballs Still Oscillating And A Wish That His Neck Could Rotate Through The Full 360 Degrees.