afflicted with the pleasing sobriquet of “Crabs from the Cunt of Mary.”
Undoubtedly there used to be a form of demotic happiness, connected to the functioning of the whole, which we are no longer able to understand
Is it that we share a similar cranial design and that by this similarity I infer a similar intelligence, a similar Weltanschauung?
I’m happy to marvel at the billowing black noxious beauty of it, at the rib-cracking hacking, the caterwauling symphony of coughs and screams
there is something comforting about being swathed in all that grand Goodman gabardine
