Forgive Me If I Sleep

Of Rhythm Is Image / Of Image Is Knowing / Of Knowing There Is / A Construct

Were All Moving, Moving, Moving. Isnt It Nice?

Forgive Me If I Sleep Until I Wake Up.

My Life Has Been Given Its Orders: The Seasons Seize The Soul And The Body, And Make Mock Of Any Dispersed Effort. The Hour Of Death Is The Only Trespass

O.k. I'm Running Out Of Appetite. Let This Swirl- A Bit Like Crab Nebula- Do For Now.