So is everything is dependent upon context as the Postmodernists say, is individuality dead?
My little black book who travelled with me to Toronto and Cuba, who lay open on god knows how many beer stained bar tables in Munich while I scribbled out my alcoholic anguish…
From the suppliers, one gets all the tools to make a "pizza." If one decides to go with a franchise, one gets the advantage of the low-costs that are extended to the franchisor.
Frigid, cold walls, surround the wooden heart, Splintered and bare, having lost it's protective bark,
They say that blood's more thick, but water runs more clear and doesn't leave a stain
Dear Diary, You’re the only one I can tell about my super alter-ego Butterfly girl. Not even my best friend Jenny Treacher knows and we’ve been best friends since forever
A spindly splodge of ink god spilt, you make up for your looks with grace; strutting upon the air with stilts; drifting past at a ghostly pace. Oh daddy long legs, you’re so queer
Language can alter consciousness; letters like L.S.D.; stories can take you on a trip beyond reality. Try prose instead of Prozac; lines of verse and not Cocaine;
Susan's journey has to start somewhere, and that is right here, today. Her life is about to become very complicated, beyond her wildest dreams and more importantly she will unravel a mystery that spans space and time.
When I was a little girl I used to have to be tucked up in bed before the landing light could be turned off, so that when I was left in the dark I knew I was safe.
I wasn’t bothered about it myself. But Ian was obsessed with it. And late one evening, he finally persuaded me to sneak out into the darkness with him - to see the train in the night...
Michael stared blankly out across the sea, If he had his own wings, perhaps he could flee. But sadly earth bound he was, at least for now, Though in time it would change, somehow.
Hee Hee Hee, Frosty got jumped, and his Pipe got Jacked.