The choir of the saints is heartle… They’ve parried happiness a lifeti… seeking only the old earth, the marsh of the meek— where earnest suffering

The only thing you can prove is how crazy you are. It’s the best defense. Where was I going with this? I don’t know.

It can get worse, there are hell realms. I’m misquoting someone but, I’ve heard it said:

At a certain point in your ordeal, it isn’t your ordeal that bothers… It is the fact that everything is… That’s what really bothers you. Because what happened is not OK,

Brian and I were driving through… which is another name for Indianap… somewhere in South Broad Ripple, a dicey zone and the neighborhoods… we slowed up through a street line…

Good Monad, In all bad news I see how strong we are. This life confusing,

When I see the little holes where the earrings used to be I wonder what they embraced and then renounced to get to now.

Hollow fang? Volcano. Cat’s purr? Hymnals. Intuition?

I remember being unmoved at more than one funeral at more than one memorial looking about impatiently impervious to the cries of the cry…

I was down for a minute had to get served out can’t take what’s mine All the money in The World

You can get better, or you can get worse, or you can stay the same. But you can’t change. Nope!

Black Mirror Obsidian Infinite gaze Hideaway of prototypes Mental, Causal larvae

It occurs to me now that no one hears my song. Still young, I am discarded. I don’t anticipate being surprised at my aloneness in old age.

I would lie with my hand on the B… I would lie with my hand on a stac… of Holy Qurans. I would look you dead-in-the-eye, and tell you a lie.

The cicada, once with the humility of a barnac… weeping beneath the fern, now screams its inane mantra, which