I'm A Very Friendly Socialist.

We Would Never Call Inexplicable Little Insights Hunches, For Fear Of Drawing The Universe's Attention. But They Happened, And You Knew You Had Been In The Proximity Of One That Had Come Through If You Saw A Detective Kiss His Or Her Fingers And Touch His Or Her Chest Where A Pendant To Warsha, Patron Saint Of Inexplicable Inspirations, Would, Theoretically, Hang.

I Have Danced With The Spider. I Have Cut A Caper With The Dancing Mad God.

Is It More Childish And Foolish To Insist That There Is A Conspiracy Or That There Is Not?

Scars Are Memory. Like Sutures. They Stitch The Past To Me.

I Don't Like Allegory.