Ordered Me A Sky From A Florist

Soon, Nostalgia Will Be Another Name For Europe.

Though I Still Turn Up My Coat-collar In A Lonely Way And Am Always Looking At Myself In Mirrors, They’re Only Habits And Give No Clue At All To My Character, Whatever That Is. The Most Difficult Performance In The World Is Acting Naturally Isn’t It? Everything Else Is Artful.

I Drew The Curtains To Conceal The Sight Of My Father's Farewell; My Spite Was Sharp As Broken Glass.

All Artists, They Say, Are A Little Mad. This Madness Is, To A Certain Extent, A Self-created Myth Designed To Keep The Generality Away From The Phenomenally Close-knit Creative Community. Yet, In The World Of The Artists, The Consciously Eccentric Are Always Respectful And Admiring If Those Who Have The Courage To Be Genuinely A Little Mad.

They Will Be Like Shadows, They Will Be Like Wraiths, Gray Members Of A Congregation Of Nightmare; Hark! His Long Wavering Howl . . . An Aria Of Fear Made Audible. The Wolfsong Is The Sound Of The Rending You Will Suffer, In Itself A Murdering.