Hateful bitch of a world, it wouldn't ever last.

And suddenly, not a soul's at the store as for other & similar & just as blank reasons, they've gone to the silence, the suppers of their own mystery.

Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.

For the first four years of my life, while he lived, I was not Ti Jean Duluoz, I was Gerard, the world was his face, the flower of his face, the pale stooped disposition, the heartbreakingness and the holiness and his teachings of tenderness to me, and my mother constantly reminding me tonpay attention to his goodness and advice.

Let the mind beware, that though the flesh be bugged, the circumstances of existence are pretty glorious.

Everything fell apart in me. How are things with you?