“A creature without a voice. A voice without a name. As immortal as my life. Come here at long last to summon the wind.”

“The thread has snapped. No sound even to mark the breaking let alone the fall. That long anticipated disintegration, when the darkest angel of all, the horror beyond all horrors, sits at last upon my chest, permanently enfolding me in its great covering wings, black as ink, veined in Bees' purple. A creature without a voice. A voice without a name. As immortal as my life. Come here at long last to summon the wind.”

“Here then at long last is my darkness. No cry of light, no glimmer, not even the faintest shard of hope to break free across the hold.”

“Come morning I found the day as I have found every other day--without relief or explanation.”

“We're the unmended, the untended,cold soldiers of the shoe. We're the neglected,the never resurrected, agonies of the few.We're the once kissed, unmissed and alwaysrefused. Because we're the unfinishedand feared and we're never pursued.And just that easily, on my behalf,I come around. Because I'm burning.The beast of War feeds only on the meats of War.And now I'm for carnage.Here's how my anguish frees.Destroy everyone of course. Because I'm unwantedand unsafe. And I'll take tears away with torments and rape,killings and fears not even the dead will escape.Encircling the Guilty, Ashamed, Blameless andEnslaved. Absolved. Butchering their prejudice.Patience. Their Value. Because I'm without value.I'm the coming of every holocaust. Turning no lost.Rending tissue, sinew and bone. Excepting no suffering.By me all levees will break. All silos heave.I will walk heavy.And I will walk strange.Because I am too soon.Because without Her, I am only revolutionsOf ruin.Because I am too soon.Because without You, I am only revolutionsOf ruin.I'm the prophecy prophecies pass.Why need dies at last.How oceans dry. Islands drown.And skies of salt crash to the ground.I turn the powerful. Defy the weak.Only grass grows down abandoned streets.For a greater economy shall follow Usand it will be undone.And a greater autonomy shall follow Usand it too will be undone.And a greater feeling shall follow Loveand it too we will blow to dust.For I am longings without trust. The cycloidal hastefreedom from Hailey forever wastes.Dust cares for only dust.And time only for Us.Because I am too soon.Because without Her, I am only revolutionsOf ruin.Because I am too soon.Because without You, I am only revolutionsOf ruin.We are always sixteen...”

“Who has never killed an hour? Not casually or without thought, but carefully: a premeditated murder of minutes. The violence comes from a combination of giving up, not caring, and a resignation that getting past it is all you can hope to accomplish. So you kill the hour. You do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. If you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. And when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body. The only clue might be the shadows beneath your eyes or a terribly thin line near the corner of your mouth indicating something has been suffered, that in the privacy of your life you have lost something and the loss is too empty to share.”

“You shall be my roots andI will be your shade,though the sun burns my leaves.You shall quench my thirst andI will feed you fruit,though time takes my seed.And when I'm lost and can tell nothing of this earthyou will give me hope.And my voice you will always hear.And my hand you will always have.For I will shelter you.And I will comfort you.And even when we are nothing left,not even in death,I will remember you.”