Literature + Illness = Illness

We're Artists Too, But We Do A Good Job Hiding It, Don't We?

Nothing Good Ever Comes Of Love. What Comes Of Love Is Always Something Better

One Should Read Borges More.

The Sky, At Sunset, Looked Like A Carnivorous Flower.

For A Moment The Two Of Them Looked At Each Other, Wordless, As If They Were Asleep And Their Dreams Had Converged On Common Ground, A Place Where Sound Was Alien.