just bring your son.

i have saint joan's wort for tea, and today i took a nap, so everything is ok.

i have a job interview early early early in the morning, and i need a bit of luck, should you have any extra.

some minotaur of conscience.

precious in the sight of every sensualist is sebastian, so eager to die again for any artist who will have him. such saints could only be the work of a heretic faith, turning believers into voyeurs, holy witnesses to the perversions of emperors.

i'd like to be in my martyr room, just beyond the cloisters and the broken cathedrals. there is other art, i suppose, but i tend towards loyalties.

there is too much beauty in the world. i will never have time to find all of it, and this comforts me. still, attempts must be made soon. my eyes want old things. pittsburgh: would anyone care to go to an art museum?