Words Are Sexier Than Flesh.

Angels Have Very Nasty Tempers. Especially When They’re Feeling Righteous.

Leavening The Flat Bread Of What We Know, With The Yeast Of What We Dream May Come To Pass.

The Great Grey Beast February Had Eaten Harvey Swick Alive.

The Moon Had Risen Behind Him, The Color Of A Shark's Underbelly. It Lit The Ruined Walls, And The Skin Of His Arms And Hands, With Its Sickly Light, Making Him Long For A Mirror In Which To Study His Face. Surely He'd Be Able To See The Bones Beneath The Meat; The Skull Gleaming The Way His Teeth Gleamed When He Smiled. After All, Wasn't That What A Smile Said? Hello, World, This Is The Way I'll Look When The Wet Parts Are Rotted.

Three Is The Number Of Those Who Do Holy Work; Two Is The Number Of Those Who Do Lover's Work; One Is The Number Of Those Who Do Perfect Evil Or Perfect Good.