Hope For The Best, Expect The Worst.

I Think The Adjective Post-modernist Really Means Mannerist. Books About Books Is Fun But Frivolous.

Midnight, And The Clock Strikes. It Is Christmas Day, The Werewolves Birthday, The Door Of The Solstice Still Wide Enough Open To Let Them All Slink Through.

You Were The Living Image Of The Entire Platonic Shadow Show, An Illusion That Could Fill My Emptiness With Marvellous, Imaginary Things As Long As, Just As Long As, The Movie Lasted, And Then All Would All Vanish.

One Beast And Only One Howls In The Woods By Night.

Strangers Used To Gather Together At The Cinema And Sit Together In The Dark, Like Ancient Greeks Participating In The Mysteries, Dreaming The Same Dream In Unison.