On a Sunday morning, we decide to head for the beach. A secluded place far away from the ever so clouding crowds of endless people. Once there, there was but one thing to do, devoid ourselves of clothing and enjoy the sun and sea. An intimate moment was shared between us, something to remember a lifetime since. I’m at work today, the sand and sea are far, and gluttonous loneliness creeps inside as I type these last words of mine. – Lucianus 2012
One of the best parts of growing older? You can flirt all you like since you’ve become harmless. – Liz Smith
Drenched with purple,
drenched with dye, my wool,
bind you the wheel-spokes
turn, turn, turn my wheel! (Hilda Doolittle (1886-1961), U.S. poet. “Simaetha.”)
Il est seul. Il ouvre le piano. Il s’approche une chaise. Pourquoi attendre-il d’être seul, parce que son beaucoup mieux quand vous mette deux doigts sur deux touches à la fois, nue ….
P.S. If you know a better translation, leave it as e remark, thanks 🙂
There is something unnaturally natural in being evil, it lurks in the shadows of one’s psyche like a serpent patiently buying time to strike, and when it does, the prey has no means of survival, for evil has one purpose and one purpose only, devouring everything in its path. – Lucianus 2012
As Sunday rolls, a week gone by, nothing particular to report from this corner of the world. As IT revolves, and seasons change, I stand tall, alone in the midst of a crowded street. Looking not lost, but in pain, for the truth I see, is mine only to understand. – Lucianus 2012
Infernal Deity of a Psychotic Mind 
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