I've Never Made An Outline For Any

Say Heat. Say Wet Between My Legs. Say Legs. Seriously, I Want You To. Stockings. Whisper It. The Word Is Meant To Be Whispered.

Maybe When We Die, The First Thing We'll Say Is 'i Know This Feeling. I Was Here Before'.

Something Lurked Inside The Truth.

The Genius Of The Primitive Mind Is That It Can Render Human Helplessness In Noble And Beautiful Ways.

People Hurried Past, The Others Of The Street, Endless Anonymous, Twenty-one Lives Per Second, Race-walking In Their Faces And Pigments, Sprays Of Fleetest Being.