Tuesday, November 03, 2009





    "Limits"

You will come to a land
Where the scandal is not to be dead.
You will land in a pickle indeed,
And the Quick are maligned.
In the twilight of delicate grief
You ride the Hippogriff.

Once enlightened, you’ll stand
And your scandal will fade like a bruise
And the stench will be sweet on the breeze
And your feet come unstained...
In the twilight of delicate grief
You ride the Hippogriff.

3 28 04


'I hate kids. I think I was one once,' Noman said, and his voice trailed off sadly." (via wood_s lot)


Series of ghazals on "winning & losing". (via Ululations)

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