But The Idea Of A Man Making

Musings The Little Poets Sing Of Little Things: Hope, Cheer, And Faith, Small Queens And Puppet Kings; Lovers Who Kissed And Then Were Made As One, And Modest Flowers Waving In The Sun. The Mighty Poets Write In Blood And Tears And Agony That, Flame-like, Bites And Sears. They Reach Their Mad Blind Hands Into The Night, To Plumb Abysses Dead To Human Sight; To Drag From Gulfs Where Lunacy Lies Curled, Mad, Monstrous Nightmare Shapes To Blast The World. [click On The Thumbnail By Jack "king" Kirby]

One Man's Bane Is Another's Bliss.

What Shall A Man Say When A Friend Has Vanished Behind The Doors Of Death? A Mere Tangle Of Barren Words, Only Words.

What Always Was Must Always Be.

I See In The Papers Where Roy Guthrie Committed Suicide. Why, I Wonder?