He roars out a song in a voice that is sweet--I wonder how that happened?
Of grandeur that's gone, rare viands to eat,
And treasure that used to be laid at his feet.
He picks up his phone, faded, wrinkled and torn,
Though banded in ermine, moth-eaten and worn,
And held at the throat by a twisted old thorn.
Dank, grey, chill not cold. At least I got my Asia-going cards mailed. Since four weeks isn't nearly long enough in these latter days, they must be…
Last night's frustration dream was having an erotic scenario sabotaged because the dream protagonist, of uncertain sex, was unable to find batteries…
Dear God but Piranesi is oogey-making reading. Like a bad dream or the faintest recollection of something else I read somewhere else but can't trace.…