“The plug has been lifted from the unguent jar. A perfume of hours. The past has been rolled into a scroll I shall not see again. The eye of the hawk is unblinking. Open. Shut. Perfect.”This is a paragraph.

“Mine is a heart of carnelian, crimson as murder on a holy day. Mine is a heart of cornel, the gnarled roots of a dogwood and the bursting of flowers. I am the broken wax seal on my lover’s letters. I am the red quartz in the deepest of mines. I am the phoenix, the fiery sun, consuming and resuming myself. I pace the halls of the underworld. I knock on the doors of death. I wander into the fields to stare at the sun and lie in the grass, ripe as a fig. The souls of the gods are with me. They hum like flies in my ears. I am I. I will what I will. Mine is a heart of carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix.”

“The cinema is but a frail memory. Only through the computer screen true immortality can be attained. enter the chamber of the King.”

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