Unclassified

There are several young people in the art gallery sketching copies of the grand masters’ works but you notice her in particular because she is...

First, she sang me the song of mornings, giving the sun a tune to rise to. Weaving the words of the day around the early hours as the trees, hills and the day grew out of the morning mists. Then she sang us a love song, using up a few hours of the morning as each verse wrapped itself around us while we lay together, joined in the chorus of skin against skin.

23/4/16 Artists and ‘liberals’ are being bumped off by a virulent regressive religious movement. Liberals of all kinds, pop stars, politicians,...

When I come here I’m not looking for any hassle, Just give me the goods I don’t care about asl, I need a good night but not one I have to remember,...