The Flesh Of Past Lovers Looks Both

In The Labyrinth Of A Difficult Text, We Find Unmarked Forks In The Path, Detours, Blind Alleys, Loops That Deliver Us Back To Our Point Of Entry, And Finally The Monster Who Whispers An Unintelligible Truth In Our Ears.

I Feel That I Have Something Significant To Say, But I Cannot Think What It Is.

I Am Forbidden Sugar, Fat, And Alcohol. So Hooray, I Guess, For Oatmeal, Lemon Juice, And Chicken Soup.

The Limitations Of Pleasure Cannot Be Overcome By More Pleasure.

Posterity--the Forlorn Child Of Nineteenth Century Optimism--grows Ever Harder To Conceive.