Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Monday, 18 May 2009
WHEN GAS FACE was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit and his solitude, and did not weary of it for ten years.
But at last his heart turned. One morning he rose with the dawn, stepped before the rising sun, and spake unto it thus...
Posted by Plague of wrists... at 20:28