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One must know the truth which shall bring sobriety, and it shall release you from your inner slavery.

She still feels for Manet's maid at the overstocked bar, bearing her wrists, saddened and bored despite the spectacle: chandeliers hang like rain clouds, while the height of Parisian entertainment is cut from the frame: the trapeze artist's ankles are all that remain. A gentlemen addresses her bib of pale skin for a flute of Brut and a clementine.

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Cold clenches, It is the season of the frail. Minds are numbed, Fluorescent lights project the winter's darkness. They illuminate our year-long guilt. Exploitation is the spirit! Through giving we are living!

So this is my body at full pelt, the crust cut away to leave only swollen grains. This is my flesh, baked stone dead in clay ovens.

and so these meanings turn to ink.

All Rupert Payton was certain about was that every eye was on him except hers'. Guests were everywhere, moving around and through him, judging him but not seeing him. He surveyed the collective who had gathered for this congratulatory little soiree. Opposite was his sister, Lydia, who shared his striking red hair and was working her way up through the junior publishing ranks. Next to her was her boss, who had a dubious marital record and wanted to work his way up her leg. His moustache was twitching intently above his tremendous pile of trembling chins.

Greetings old friend!, How are things at the bookshop? Well, I hope. Well, I've been teaching at the university in Phetchaburi (south central) for 7 weeks now. It isn't anything too fascinating but there are definite points of interest.

I see you, sitting there From the corner of my eye. I want to get to know you, I can't you see, I'm shy...