Comments are like hearing a shotgun somewhere in the woods of It All Happened Before I Got Here. Sound itself.

Always a Threat As Sure as Death. What torment is cunning. What love, you old fool, is the body or the book. That subtle knot which hangs us by their hooks, and all ready to unload us with the pigs who will eat us Our Testicles, Our Tongues, Our Something Wicked This Way Comes.