93,

Woodville

Oh Woodville I wish that I were thee,

Nay that I were in thee.
We are kindred souls, you and I.
We seek the dark, but not to die, but to be free.

I weave a web of illusion, but what of it ?

All is formed of aether where we be.
Come and sit for awhile, and cease your fits.
Continued strife, it clouds our vision, we cannot see.

Let us share the drought of love, the drought of beauty.

Let us die, let us be free.
You seek escape, but can't you see,
that all is paper mache, we can be free.

I give thanks to Anahita ? (she either purposely, or unconsciously, turned me onto this work), To Mary
Shelly (she wrote Mathilda, which immediately cautht my attention as I am reading Dante's Divine
Comedy at the moment), To Anne Rice (you may have percieved my sexual ambiguity by now, I thank
her for writing openly about these subjects, alghough in the guise of the excellent Vampire Chronicles),
To Marilyn Manson (whether he knows it or not, he's my man – as he is to many people), To Dead or
Alive, To the infinite space that is always above us, below us, in us, is in fact us (see The Book of the
Law, Aiwass via the prophet To Mega Therion, Aleister Crowley).

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Frater Balaam (the bi one) - Bruce