God Bless The Roots! Body

The Darkness Has It's Own Light.

Love Is Not Love Until Love's Vulnerable.

So Much Of Adolescence Is An Ill-defined Dying, An Intolerable Waiting, A Longing For Another Place And Time, Another Condition.

Reason? That Dreary Shed, That Hutch For Grubby Schoolboys.

Should We Say The Self, Once Perceived, Becomes The Soul?