The Claw Of The Magnolia, Drunk On

Read Widely Of Others' Experiences, Even If It'd Be More Comfortable To Snuggle Back In The Comforting Cotton-wool Of Blissful Ignorance.

Do We Always Grind Through The Present, Doomed To Throw A Gold Haze Of Fond Retrospect Over The Past?

I Do Not Know Who I Am Tonight.

Secretly, In Studies And Attics And Schoolrooms All Over America, People Must Be Writing.

Is There No Way Out Of The Mind?