His homunculus, too persistent to exist, sits in a mythic chaise longue in his mind. ‘So, where will I be, when your brain is gone?’ it asks, and laughs, and keeps him half awake.
Whilst gawking on Amsterdam’s Dam Square in front of palace… I count three unicorns high on the palace. How many more inside is hard to tell outside here on the Dam persuading Alice it’s not the pills she ate that made her swell. Her bare midriff – think Kodiak or grisly – embarrasses the sycophants(…)
The music for romance flies out the window pursuing chances for a warmer bed. They won’t know how the chances that they had, divided by the chances that they missed, will tally: long division, no results. Hard rock segues into blues — her morning mood — in their concrete penthouse perched on Mesa Rock. She(…)