Please activate JavaScript!
Please install Adobe Flash Player, click here for download
ePaper created 2013-10-09, 06:36:00 | version 1.25.20
130 “To be “born” was a curse: Any brazen or corrupt conceiving of “yourself” (with no nouns) in which “you” was completely unnecessary must necessarily persist. For you can’t really extricate from what is. To see this, love, would be torture. In a dream, tree’d wood, by way of its deliberate erection, have transmogrified your pages from the dull and leaf- less (heaven forbid) into something imbibing a juicy truth which, though evil, useless, perhaps, proves ever the liquid seams (like rivers) could have been worth watching. We fanned out, like a Dead Zone. If you manage to open it, irrigator, it received with precision your unnecessary muscle. -Jared Schickling