I'm Trying To Climb Up Both Walls

Not One Death But Many, Not Accumulation But Change, The Feed-back Proves, The Feed-back Is The Law

Forgive Me If I Sleep Until I Wake Up.

Dead, Hung Up Indoors, The Kingfisher Will Not Indicate A Favoring Wind, Or Avert The Thunderbolt.

The Body Whips The Soul. In Its Great Desire It Demands The Elixir In The Roar Of Spring, Transmutations.

What Can We Do When Even The Public Conveyances Sing? How Can We Go Anywhere, Even Cross-town How Get Out Of Anywhere