My Captor
Improving upon the beauty of a stone the masters carve it. And so it was with Will.. Sweet Mr Graham an Angel with abilities. We have clipped each others wings.

The Franciscan Jeckle I bid go and visit in homage kissed him for me. And as with any pre-eminent pilgrimage of note it ended with a cure.

It is amusing to think of the rations of pain that the great unwashed and the great alike thrive on. The instruments of the physician, coroner and torturer sit at the one table.

Amusing not because it would give the Marquis a frisson but because an implement of horror can be the tool of a healer and because humans subsist on vivissection, not to mention the spoils of war and ill-gotten gains of control.

To celebrate the pain of those tormented in our street is a sickness, but those murders in our name, in our literature and in our philospohies are standard.

Pain is a tool as surely as a linoleum knife is a tool.