I Touch Your Book And Dream Of

When It Snows In Your Nose, You Catch Cold In Your Brain.

The Poignancy Of A Photograph Comes From Looking Back To A Fleeting Moment In A Floating World. The Transitoriness Is What Creates The Sense Of The Sacred

The Apparition Of An Evil, Sick Unconscious Wild City Rose Before Me In Visible Semblance, And About The Dead Buildings In The Barren Air, The Bodies Of The Soul That Built The Wonderland Shuffled And Stalked And Stalked And Lurched In Attitudes Of Immemorial Nightmare All Around.

We're All Golden Sunflowers Inside.

Let Go Of The Spirit Of The Departed, And Continue The Celebration Of Your Own Life.