Evil Is Maybe Lying To

The Family Story Tells, And It Was Told True, Of My Great-grandfather Who Begat Eight Genius Children And Bought Twelve Almost New Grand Pianos. He Left A Considerable Estate When He Died.

The Beautiful Feeling After Writing A Poem Is On The Whole Better Even Than After Sex, And That's Saying A Lot.

I Rot On The Wall, My Own Dorian Gray.

A Woman Who Writes Feels Too Much.

I Am Your Dwarf. I Am The Enemy Within. I Am The Boss Of Your Dreams. See. Your Hand Shakes. It Is Not Palsy Or Booze. It Is Your Doppelganger Trying To Get Out. Beware...beware...