Nothing Yet. I've Been Waiting."

Before We Are Forgotten, We Will Be Turned Into Kitsch. Kitsch Is The Stopover Between Being And Oblivion.

Through The Air Floated Only Important Words, And Flajsman Said To Himself That Love Has But One True Measure, And That Is Death. At The End Of True Love Is Death, And Only The Love That Ends In Death Is Love.

In The Love Poetry Of Every Age, The Woman Longs To Be Weighed Down By The Man's Body.

Pain Doesn't Listen To Reason, It Has It's Own Reason, Which Is Not Reasonable

Now Time Has A Very Different Look; It Is No Longer The Conquering Present Capturing The Future; It Is The Present Conquered And Captured And Carried Off By The Past.