...we Must Be A Beacon

I Suppose It's Everyone's Fate To Be Reduced To Quaintness By Those Younger Than Themselves.

He Has To Find More And Better Ways Of Occupying His Time. His Time, What A Bankrupt Idea, As If He's Been Given A Box Of Time Belonging To Him Alone, Stuffed To The Brim With Hours And Minutes That He Can Spend Like Money. Trouble Is, The Box Has Holes In It And The Time Is Running Out, No Matter What He Does With It.

Moira Was Like An Elevator With Open Sides. She Made Us Dizzy.

It's Evening, One Of Those Gray Water-color Washes, Like Liquid Dust.

You Think I'm Not A Goddess? Try Me. This Is A Torch Song. Touch Me And You'll Burn.