For I am a peddler of words lost in space and time filling in gaps of insignificance to outright the inconceivable.

When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can. ~Samuel Lover, Handy Andy, 1842

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Happiness on a rainy season.


Free your mind and your ass will follow. 
- George Clinton

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