The Soul Is A Magician. Only Living

The Bitterness Of Joy Lies In The Knowledge That Is Cannot Last. Nor Should Joy Last Beyond A Certain Season, For, After That Season, Even Joy Would Become Merely Habit.

Condemned And Executioner With Aren't Coupled In A Primitive Rite.

I Like Films, Or Some Films, And Would Be Intrigued To See My Work On Screen.

Dawn Rose From The Desert And Turned The River To Wine.

She Looked, And A Scarlet Butterfly Flew Away From Her, Away Down The Length Of The Tower, And Then Another, Another, An Unraveling Scarf Of Butterflies Like Winged Blood.