mr.House's blog: Fresh news 24

Oh, ghastly rubbish. He had long grown used to sleeping with a strong light on his face. He had dragged out from the corners of his memory some more fragments of forgotten rhymes. All animals should go naked. Hatred would fill him like an enormous roaring flame. The inevitable crash came late in 1919. It was clear that there was something more which delicacy prevented him from saying. The music quickened to a climax. There was also Animal Hero, Second Class, which was conferred posthumously on the dead sheep. Presently the rising and falling of their breasts slowed to normal speed, and in a sort of pleasant helplessness they fell apart.

mr.House's blog

Friday, March 20, 2009

Fresh news 24

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