The Woman Had Looked Into The Abyss

No Writer, Painter, Or Actor - No Artist - Is Ever Handed A Sharp Knife (although A Few People Are Handed Almighty Big Ones; The Name We Give To The Artist With The Big Knife Is 'genius'), And We Hone With Varying Degrees Of Zeal And Aptitude.

There’s Always Someone Who Knows Something.

We're All Going To Die; I'm Just Trying To Make It A Little More Interesting.

The Poets Continually And Sometimes Wilfully Mistake Love. Love Is The Old Slaughterer.

She Is A Cat With A Burning Tail, An Ant Under A Microscope, A Fly About To Lose Its Wings To The Curious Plucking Fingers Of A Third-grader On A Rainy Day, A Game For Bored Children With No Bodies And The Whole Universe At Their Feet.