May 30, 2009

I document the lives of liars, expeditions that have gone so long untold–and only seen as dreams.
The waxing moon rises and thrives from horizon to horizon, reaching for the bitter-sweet mode of Jove. The cadence of his orb’s rays are quite enough to clear any being of any haze: This is why people dream at night, resting best in the dark.

So these lives untold hold onto a sense of grand deception; it is their will.

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