Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.

Morning found us unaware, noon burn gold into our hair, at night we swim the laughin sea, where will we be?

Tell them you came, and saw, and looked into my eyes and saw the shadow of the guard receding. Thoughts in time and out of season, the hitchinker stood by the side of the road and levelled his thumb in the calm calculus of reason. [...] Why does my mind circle around you? Why do planets wonder what it would be like to be you? All your soft wild promises were words, birds, endlessly in flight.

The world we suggest is a new wild west. A sensuous evil world. Strange and haunting, the path of the sun.

I am interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos, especially activity that seems to have no meaning.

We are content in the 'given' in sensation's quest. We have been metamorphosised from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark.

No one thought up being. He who thinks he has, step forward.