Comedy Is Tragedy That Happens

There Was A House We All Had In Common And It Was Called The Past, Even Though We'd Lived In Different Rooms.

The Clown May Be The Source Of Mirth, But - Who Shall Make The Clown Laugh?

His Contagious Conviction That Our Love Was Unique And Desperate Infected Me With An Anxious Sickness; Soon We Would Learn To Treat One Another With The Circumspect Tenderness Of Comrades Who Are Amputees, For We Were Surrounded By The Most Moving Images Of Evanesecence, Fireworks, Morning Glories, The Old, Children. But The Most Moving Of These Images Were The Intagible Relfections Of Ourselves We Saw In One Another's Eyes, Reflections Of Nothing But Appearances, In A City Dedicated To Seeming, And, Try As We Might To Possess The Essence Of Each Other's Otherness, We Would Inevitably Fail.

One Beast And Only One Howls In The Woods By Night.

Soon, Nostalgia Will Be Another Name For Europe.