Your Body Will Never Be Familiar.

Maybe We, The Cultural Workers , Could Apply Ourselves. We're Not Going To Resolve It In This Moment Or Even In This Generation, But Perhaps As Some Kind Of Agenda We Could Invite Our Writers And Cultural Workers To Address The Problem A Little More Responsibly, Because People Are Suffering Tremendously From A Want Of Data.

And I'll Bury My Soul In A Scrapbook, With The Photographs There And The Moths.

I Loved You For A Long, Long Time I Know This Love Is Real It Don't Matter How It All Went Wrong That Don't Change The Way I Feel And I Can't Believe That Time's Gonna Heal This Wound I'm Speaking Of There Ain't No Cure For Love

I Cannot Understand Why My Arm Is Not A Lilac Tree.

Get Ready For The Future: It Is Murder.