Is Not This World An

Midnight, And The Clock Strikes. It Is Christmas Day, The Werewolves Birthday, The Door Of The Solstice Still Wide Enough Open To Let Them All Slink Through.

Those Are The Voices Of My Brothers, Darling; I Love The Company Of Wolves.

Pornography Is A Satire On Human Pretensions.

I See Her As A Series Of Marvellous Shapes Formed At Random In The Kaleidoscope Of Desire.

He Is, I Think, Already Pondering A Magisterial Project: That Of Buggering The English Language, The Ultimate Revenge Of The Colonialised.