Midian Is Where The Monsters Go.

Behind Their Eyes The Hope Was Sickening And In Many, Dead. They Lived From Event To Event With A Subtle Terror Of The Gap Between, Filling Up Their Lives With Distractions To Avoid The Emptiness Where Curiosity Should Have Been.

Gather Experience... Look At What You Should Not Look At. A Feeling Of Anxiety Is The Sure And Certain Evidence That You Should Do This.

There Must Still Be Room For The Falling Note, Of Course. Even In An Undying World There Are Times When Beauty Passes From Sight, Or Love Passes From The Heart, And We Feel The Sorrow Of Partition.

My Father Used To Say: Every Bird Is One Bird, And Every Book Is One Book, And Every Bird And Every Book Is One Thing Too, Under The Words And The Feathers." He Finished With A Flourish, As Though The Meaning Of This Was Self-evident.

Well, Here He Was. They Could Save Each Other, The Way The Poets Promised Lovers Should. He Was Mystery, He Was Darkness, He Was All She Had Dreamed Of. And If She Would Only Free Him He Would Service Her - Oh Yes - Until Her Pleasure Reached That Threshold That, Like All Thresholds, Was A Place Where The Strong Grew Stronger, And The Weak Perished. Pleasure Was Pain There, And Vice Versa. And He Knew It Well Enough To Call It Home.