here’s a story. it may even be true. where i come from nothing ever sucks, so i

the center holds itself still that rockets believably may be seen exploding in all directions from somewhere vaguely

every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which

god is unwelcome in suburbia, the cells are too comfortable there, & love rests best under stars.

lie still. be quiet. please understand what happens so, next time

I just felt what I think I’ll feel always, once we’ve finally met, and share this cool space, like an open secr… It felt like all my favorite songs…

of course it is not about you. you have to know this, like baby birds know worms come with mother’s return,

of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery

i could not conceive of such beauty, it had to hit me like it has. nothing

does a king come ready– made, or doesn’t he emerge from a prince once a frog, and aren’t you

Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.