I apologise for not writing for a while. I've been falling out of trees - Oaks mostly - under the misty moon-breathe of a schizo heart. No dwelling place where explosive smiles burp on every street corner, taking you down to where the walrus begins. And all the demons turning into butterflies. You wish! Very little makes sense when the periodic table takes a hold of all the thoughts that trail the world forever: in peace the last upwards spilling rain, soaking the sky and telling me with a...

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