One Of The Mistakes The

Art Is Accusation, Expression, Passion. Art Is Black Charcoal Crushing White Paper.

...i Remain Restless And Dissatisfied; What I Knot With My Right Hand, I Undo With My Left, What My Left Hand Creates, My Right Fist Shatters

Love That’s It: The Cashless Commerce. The Blanket Always Too Short. The Loose Connexion. To Search Behind The Horizon. To Brush Fallen Leaves With Four Shoes And In One’s Mind To Rub Bare Feet. To Let And Rent Hearts; Or In A Room With Shower And Mirror, In A Hired Car, Bonnet Facing The Moon, Wherever Innocence Stops And Burns Its Programme, The Word In Falsetto Sounds Different And New Each Time. Today, In Front Of A Box Office Not Yet Open, Hand In Hand Crackled The Hangdog Old Man And The Dainty Old Woman. The Film Promised Love.

Even Bad Books Are Books And Therefore Sacred.

Information Networks Straddle The World. Nothing Remains Concealed. But The Sheer Volume Of Information Dissolves The Information. We Are Unable To Take It All In.