Sublime

functionary

Quickly was he among the haunts and low places, rubbing elbows with such denizens who did not exist in the comfort of daylight and human industry. Mishaps and history had condemned them, these crippled minds and mangled bodies,

raison d’être

Janáček’s Sinfonietta after

motallaric

Memory met imagination halfway in the hammock of his boyhood’s dawns.

I turn into a theorising black crow.