Writing. Love Is Writing.

Our Minds Can Go No Further. The Human Imagination Is Capable Of No Further Expression Of Beauty Than The Carved Owl Of Athene, The Archaic, Marble Serpent, The Arrogant Selfish Head Of The Acropolis Apollo.

Why Wait For Death To Mow? Why Wait For Death To Sow Us In The Ground?

The Things I Have Are Nameless, Old And True; They May Not Be Named; Few May Live And Know.

I Myself Have Seen The Floating Ships And Nothing Will Ever Be The Same The Shouts, The Harrowing Voices Within The House. I Stand Apart With An Army: My Mind Is Graven With Ships.

Luminous, Unfearful; High-priestesses, Our Fervour Shall Banish All Evil.