Something To Remember, That: Cats For Missiles.

There Are Times When The Air That Floats Between Mortals Becomes, In Its Stillness And Silence, As Cruel As The Edge Of A Scythe.

We Are All Imprisoned By The Dictionary. We Choose Out Of That Vast, Paper-walled Prison Our Convicts, The Little Black Printed Words, When In Truth We Need Fresh Sounds To Utter, New Enfranchised Noises Which Would Produce A New Effect.

There Is A Brotherhood Among The Kindly- Closer And Defter And More Integral- Than Any Of Aisle Or Coven- For Love Rang Out Before The Chapel Bell

Something To Remember, That: Cats For Missiles.

The Sun Sank With A Sob And Darkness Waded In From All Horizons So That The Sky Contracted And There Was No More Light Left In The World, When, At This Very Moment Of Annihilation, The Moon, As Though She Had Been Waiting For Her Cue, Sailed Up The Night.