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Crevice Weeds Writings—«waifs of many a wreck»—motley and fragmentary writings—sketchy and faulty—failed, perhaps—unconfined—along the borders, upon the thresholds and into the chinks of literature, «as foam that the sea-winds fret»…

June 15 and 16, 1975





But when two mortals are one in heart,
Not iron bolts keep them apart;
The words in their union they use,
Fragrance like orchids will diffuse.

Ta Chuan, VIII.6







«I do not exist», the dream girl says, dim, dark & lovely. «Not yet. And what if you will not find me?» she smiles, slowly sipping an amber drink. «In one life or the other, perhaps, you will», it’s her hint in the dim soft lights. «I know you very well», she adds, with a lovely smile. «Time is nothing for us», she smiles again, even more lovely. «Your netherworld is a lovely place.» Too much smiling in the dim sparkling darkness out there. «I love some of your oddities», she says, her pale hand circling so slowly. «I am your mirror, you see? Do we…?»









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