Parque Nacional da Tijuca, Alto da Boa Vista, Rio de Janeiro When his father’s eye opens over him waxing him in cool light over the river, even us faithless are stunned. Whatever happens at last, I hope he can escape the old blood staining his robes, the loneliness no one told him was part of being human.
Cyprus icon Mary’s puffy crows feet have been crying about the world again, she misled us all. How in the hell did that painter jot her down so fast, before she could get her makeup on like normal? I’ve seen those Hollywood epics with their false street preachers rubbed in bone dust on every damned corner. I’ve seen their ladies… Read more →