play that fucking harpsichord, mephistopheles, because this princeling has his yearn on for the sheol. oh & how unholy the sky seems today, unclouded but clearly UP TO SOMETHING. the sky is for the birds! i'd stab it if i could. the end of things (yarn, for instance). oh how unholy the sky. son, i reckon there never was a harder man than blackbeard. say partner, says his son, blackbeard was the rasputin of the seven seas. today i am soft, like the footfalls of the pelopensian war. athens & sparta sneaking up on everybody. boo! heavens, this feeling like a stain. how lady fucking macbeth.