It would be a conceit to believe that any of this is relevant…
Perhaps these are merely random words spat forth by misfiring synapses in the organic computer of an alter-ego too big to believe it has nothing to say; or too far gone to give a shit.
After all, life continues (for now); children are born; politicians evade the truth; nations rise and fall (as do sea levels) and the world lurches on regardless of the words that gather electronic rust on these flickering pages.

The Dread Letter Office management takes no responsibility for personal interpretation of these lines.
(Since when did management take responsibility for anything?)

Read ‘em and weep.

© Pisces Iscariot reserves all rights to these scribblings

The Book of Samothrace ~ Barry Windsor-Smith

Ancient Sound ~ Paul Klee

Untitled ~ Zdzislaw Beksinski

Cover for CoCo ~ Oscar Chichoni

Dragon's Pleasure ~ Jacek Yerka