A Man Kills The Thing

I Dreamt A Limitless Book, A Book Unbound, Its Leaves Scattered In Fantastic Abundance On Every Line There Was A New Horizon Drawn, New Heavens Supposed; New States, New Souls.

The Extraordinary's The Norm.

Nothing Ever Begins. There Is No First Moment; No Single Word Or Place From Which This Or Any Story Springs. The Threads Can Always Be Traced Back To Some Earlier Tale, And The Tales That Preceded That; Though As The Narrator's Voice Recedes The Connections Will Seem To Grow More Tenuous, For Each Age Will Want The Tale Told As If It Were Of Its Own Making.

There Is No Delight The Equal Of Dread

I Can See In Your Eyes That There’s No Seam Of Untapped Joy Left In You. The Best Of Life Has Come And Gone. Those Days When Sudden Epiphanies Swept Over You, And You Had Visions Of The Rightness Of All Things And Of Your Place Amongst Them; They’re History. You’re In A Darker Place Now.