Life Is Too Short To Read A

The Swift December Dusk Had Come Tumbling Clownishly After Its Dull Day And, As He Stared Through The Dull Square Of The Window Of The Schoolroom, He Felt His Belly Crave For Its Food. He Hoped There Would Be Stew For Dinner, Turnips And Carrots And Bruised Potatoes And Fat Mutton Pieces To Be Ladled Out In Thick Peppered Flourfattened Sauce. Stuff It Into You, His Belly Counselled Him.

When One Reads These Strange Pages Of One Long Gone One Feels That One Is At One With One Who Once.

His Heart Danced Upon Her Movements Like A Cork Upon A Tide. He Heard What Her Eyes Said To Him From Beneath Their Cowl And Knew That In Some Dim Past, Whether In Life Or Revery, He Had Heard Their Tale Before.

Wipe Your Glosses With What You Know.

In Woman's Womb Word Is Made Flesh But In The Spirit Of The Maker All Flesh That Passes Becomes The Word That Shall Not Pass Away. This Is The Postcreation.