
Mothhead
“...the old world is dying, and the new one is unborn yet. Time of moths.”

A selected variety from across the cycles.

“...the old world is dying, and the new one is unborn yet. Time of moths.”

“The yard is vast. It is life’s luxury, where a cascade of sensations dazzles the boy.”

“The rabbit’s black marble of an eye looks at him.”

“Hello, Ms. Tom Latin.”

“Flowery language will not, cannot, hide the gnarled rot.”

“Batter my heart, five-eye’d God”

“Silence settles between the scarabeous man and the gilt woman.”

“Never imagined strangling or killing her.”

“I transcribe what she’s saying, which will be of no use whatsoever”