Bastard Freedom Waves Her Fustian Flag In

Soul Is To Be Found In The Vicinity Of Taboo.

When We Relate To Our Bodies As Having Soul, We Attend To Their Beauty, Their Poetry And Their Expressiveness. Our Very Habit Of Treating The Body As A Machine, Whose Muscles Are Like Pulleys And Its Organs Engines, Forces Its Poetry Underground, So That We Experience The Body As An Instrument And See Its Poetics Only In Illness.

Bastard Freedom Waves Her Fustian Flag In Mockery Over Slaves.

Come O'er The Sea, Maiden With Me, Mine Through The Sunshine, Storms And Snows; Seasons May Roll, But The True Soul Burns The Same, Where'er It Goes.

The Ordinary Acts We Practice Every Day At Home Are Of More Importance To The Soul Than Their Simplicity Might Suggest.