Send to a fan or friend

An ancient autobiography, in a lost language of limpid letters, decaying in dust in a dungeon of detritus.

A friendly face, peering perfectly out a wide wisteria-covered window, watching as you walk. You do not know this face, nor do you notice it. In a moment, it is gone.

Horoscopes, while unhelpful, are a lot more sanitary than visceral prophesying.

0 comments about this author Feed