...the scent of sake haunting me   with the eyes of jade slipping like silk down the throat   a phantom of memories lost reminds me that the dead are gone    but their absence is not deadwith the eyes of jade...

 Upon the midnight's bleak and desolate hour. A whispered word from out the ebon wall. When shadows clutch at reason's failing power. A funereal and darkly portentous call. A secret told in croaks of lost affairs. From some grim raven,...

Realism is a distant, flickering star. I know not what the tastes of reality are.   Some will share this glimmering sky with me, and to them, fortunate enough to see   a surrealist, star-blanketed day-sky.   I abide by the lonely confines of the only home...