Who Has Never Killed An Hour?

This Great Blue World Of Ours Is But A House Of Leaves, Moments Before The Wind.

Knowledge Is Hot Water On Wool. It Shrinks Time And Space.

My Hands Resemble Some Ancient Tree: The Roots That Bind Up The Earth, The Rock And The Ceaselessly Nibbling Wordms.

Keep True To The Rare Music In Your Heart, To The Marvelous And Unique Form That Is And Shall Always Be Nothing Else But You. Keep To That And You Can Do No Wrong, Which I Realize Is Easier Said Than Done.

I Believe The Structure Of 'house Of Leaves' Is Far More Difficult To Explain Than It Is To Read. And While I'd Like To Lay Claim To Some Extraordinary Act Of Originality, Truth Is I'm Only Taking Advantage Of Capabilities Inherent In Everyone.