Notes from the Homeland of Beautiful Beasts

Let them regurgitate some such softness to warm the belly, like mother to young. We will be corpses of nourishment. A labor sometimes too hard to swallow when alive.

Rheums of revelations; crusted fallacies eloquently parabled with a fingertip, these boogery symbols profoundly offered in tissued expressions of faith.

"The more we elaborate our means of communication, the less we communicate". — J.B. Priestly Squatting in thick skinned caves, paged westward we became, nothing more

My brother murdered a man. We wasted an afternoon over the telephone, and coffee, as I listened, and he talked. Being rubbed the wrong way is merely execution of sound,

I once stripped nights away with silks wrapped in all the correct places; Never advertising, simply suggesting. Manicured to a sharpness that cut passersby, my entrance whispered.