Buried benieath the layers of doubt and indecision, worrying and wondering are the eyes of the soul, searching and waiting, looking for the one thing, the one tiny spark, to release it from the depths of despair and destruction. Always searching for a way out, looking for a faint glimmer of hope in the darkness,searching, always seeking are the eyes of the soul. There in the distance a faint glimmer of light slowly expanding filling the darkness, humming growing louder, the many voices murmuring, calling out "come, the way out is here, let the light guide you, lead you to the release you seek." Let your soul search no more for the truth and light are upon you, enter and be filled, want no more, join us in praise and happiness, full-fillment, search no more............The eyes of the Soul..............search no more....

hello

"Bye bye." Eight schizophrenic Chinese women were stood in a tin of pilchards, peeling grapes into yellow buckets of leftover foreskin. But beneath the duskiness of their eclipse and gloom, was a vibrant illumination of tenebrosity. They cultivated a garden in the melanic breasts of their quintessence, which had correspondingly fermented the soil of their analogically hirsute expressions. The janitor was unimpressed. Their matching bourgeois haircuts made them look like Hezbollite sympathizers. His nostrils quivered like a shin soaked in giraffe pancreas. So, furnished with a cask of beef shortening and a matchbox of distended kidneys, he molded their faces into a single bar of soap and stored it in a can of aerosol spray near the cutlass he used to remove the eye maggots...