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This I say to this pen, as the ink doth flow down the faces of the world, I write in my symbolic embrace, a new chapter of memory. There is in the back of my mind, a one women, whom with the power and graces of the firery trascandetal bird, embodies the marvelous and adventerous pheonix. But not always, for there is a moment under the bleakness of darkness, of the sadness of time, as I lay upon the dreaming world, where te land is the surface of the watch, and I am running from the hands of time, that I gaze up in the center of the sky, and see the fangs of such a bird, turn into that of a vampire, and that her eyes are no longer the same, that they are now as black as ravens.

Then, eruptly from my mindful maze of dreaming sequence, sense in the most marvelous aspect of curiosity, that this is the most wonderful insanity that I've ever had, as we are now the visitors to the land of Alice, where wonderland invokes all of the laughter of the cheshire cat, and we are so so splendingly having tea, as she devours me and sucks my blood.
 
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