Hosted by rfurtkamp · EN

Mother's mirror always has shown such marvelous things.

The truth is not easy to kill, silence, or mutilate.

All enigmas that are sensible mean nothing in the end.

There is no escape, and the unfun is forever.

Beyond the surface, it ever dwells. Beneath the waves, there is everything and nothing. And all.

Echoes of the flaming mother in purple skies, take me home. "Come away!" she said, and all I had was a song.

Things that should be that are not. If you understood, you'd never dig up Joan Crawford from her grave.

In the distance, it can be felt but not known. Such is the righteous riot of the mating of the stars.

Two of the same exact model guitar and their brother walk into a bar. Amplitude modulation crushing delay sweeps in and demands a dance. Such is the way of the fading cosmos.

You weren't there, but you may have heard the stomping in the woods in the mist.