…events so crowd upon each other in convulsed and distracted times, that more than the stirring incidents of a whole life often become compressed into the compass of four-and-twenty hours…
…events so crowd upon each other in convulsed and distracted times, that more than the stirring incidents of a whole life often become compressed into the compass of four-and-twenty hours…
“So, her secret. What’s her secret? She shapes you so special, like you’re the answer, the only one who could ever know it, who could hold it in the chest of the self. The only self that mattered, the self she cuts you into. I say yes tell me, I come closer, I feel her warmth on me: The endless sea of mouth, the lining of the lip which shapes her a physical self despite the woodenishness you could not detect unless it warped you, which it would, if you were near enough.”
Lisa Marie Basile | Nympholepsy