My dreams infect my wake even more and more everyday. Reality is dulling.
My memory is oh so much stronger when I subconciously create the past. The reality of past experience is smudgy in the place of imagination
I will try show up in your mirror whenever I can, but simple visions of a place I have never seen will pull my tounge out. Irregularities are not the same as they used to be. Just remember what they used to say: “Say the devil’s name, and he shall appear before you.” It’s war where gold’s involved. I’m on the line of arts
What’s the cotton for now that you’ve reached it?
Alive inside the breast—look inside---blood of camel-milk rains
‘Sorry’ saves the score---what a piece of art!!!
Come kill dinner with me dear.....or else you’ll starve.
What you think about at times. Who knows anything about that?