My poetry always reads like an open vein.
“Who can police us: we, who kill with a touch?
Do you really think you can redeem us, mad Warden?
Consider what I propose: you will be overrun by your charges.
Drowned by their desires, you will beg for death.
And when you ask me for help, I will say to you only:
Your failure becomes you—the future isn’t what it used to be.”
—The Regnant Lord, to The Precept
Zouch: (def.) an ungenteel man; a bookseller
—from John Awdelay’s “The Fraternite of Vacabondes” (1561)
I’ve been known to play FIVE DIMENSIONAL chess. When I start losing, I knock over the board while performing “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In”…