At the source of every thought, whatever its content, praiseworthy or trivial, subtle or crude, superficial or profound,there is always the same ingredient, the same
At the source of every thought, whatever its content, praiseworthy or trivial, subtle or crude, superficial or profound,there is always the same ingredient, the same
Long have I lived in the outlet storeOf assembly-line music,There, it filled meWith ethereal echoesConcentrated syrupEmotional quicksandHorizons to follow,Facing overwhelmed eyes. I understand now that