anonymousangel

then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinlked in the tufted floor.
'wretch,' i cried, 'thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
let me quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
quoth the Raven "nevermore.'


pain is manifest in a myriad of ways and defines some of us in such fine, dark form, sir.

to quote another piece of art:

"...every minute i spend in this room i get weaker. every minute Charlie spends in the bush he gets stronger."

long has it been since i could pontificate without fear of making a perfect ass of myself. thank you.



-pb

oh jeez, those pics you up of me are so me its scary. i fear that they show exactly what you see of me all day everyday, immersed in my world of writing. sorry...