To Be Rather Than To Seem.

The Circus Arrives Without Warning.

The Night That Seemed Endless Hours Before Is Now Slipping Through Your Fingers, Ticking By As It Falls Into The Past And Pushes You Towards The Future.

You Told Me Love Was Fickle And Fleeting.

Old Stories Have A Habit Of Being Told And Retold And Changed. Each Subsequent Storyteller Puts His Or Her Mark Upon It. Whatever Truth The Story Once Had Is Buried In Bias And Embellishment. The Reasons Do Not Matter As Much As The Story Itself.

Misdirection Is One Of My Strengths.