Exhbition Number:?

    I’ve layed my eager eyes upon her limbs. That kind of sad beauty, natural grace.

Reading a book under the rain and thunders of gods, pagan and dark.

 Lovers as we are just acolytes.

  When the dusk was taking this land, lovely twilight, purple as her eyes, gloomy and big, seductive.

NympHic. Could turn my quiet day in a balmy day.

 Dark blUe in the sky, her brown scent in and around my nose.

 Most loves are born under the sun, some are born when the day and night Meets at the horizon, I’d tryied to hide my anklers, my bubble of hot poison, the fire that ablaze my heart and my loins.

But I could not.

  The time of my heart Beats does not follow any measure though, so how I could know that she was the one in the middle of the beats.

Sin, soul, any difference that you can spot with your greedy eyes?

Ennio Morricone is playing somewhere, and the dark blue is still here, sweEt piano chords and violins, smooth as virgin kisses and they have the flavours of her.

FlavouRs of fruit vert.

 I had felt the heaT of the dirty under my bare feet and she sure felt it too, a nymph, with those clothes that remember wings. A bird, a very bird.

Answer me, how a man could fell in love so madly for stardust?

That’s what we all are, ain’t that the bitter truth?

We can find our brothers and sisters, our lovers and sinners in dust, stardust that surrounds us and she, was made of the most beautiful dead stars.

She layed her eyes upon me, black clothes and anklers.

Maybe Little Bird knew me from other time, or our souls are the same up there, oh Lord, I could eat those scarlet lips, scarlet as licked strawberry candy. Starlet eyes and moving legs, rich brown hair oh, so different of mine, that black ripple of darkness and bones, my horns could not touch her flesh.

 And she took a sit by my side and said:

–There’s stardust on my eyes, everywhere, look Horned Man.

  

  And I had looked, azure sky or dark blue eyes, I do not know, stardust know so little these days.

Oh, that nature I could not said precisely what was, but I am sure it was not all human, maybe demoniac, but definitely not human, the beat of my heart and the pump sound of my veins blended with her voice. Maybe she was a Little Ghost, protected by our wildlife. Could we run thoghout the wilderness and deserts, or maybe, if you like, travel to USA roads, motel to motel, brothel to brothel, and lose our souls into the HAZE of a field. Come now, just 25 steps to my old car and we can set our demons free. We have time, but first we have to have the conscience that one day, well be ghosts of dead leaves of what we are now, our long ago is now when our bodies were close to become Stardust.

If we die of hate or remorse, at least something we did Little Bird.

 She kissed me, wrapped her legs around me and I melted in the sun.

Feather lips and just came to my mind those lines, of the European poet, the handsome one, know who is it?

 He said that the last long lap is the hardest, and the rest is rust... and Stardust. And now I complete, ‘cause I understand him, rust and Stardust in symphony, up there in the Dark Blue. 

Raindrop Blues

 She tried to fly on that rainy day

Streets so wet

She left by the Secret Door

The birds are flying so high today

Flying in stop motion

Raindrops killing my thirst

Today my heart got stolen but she dropped it

‘cause it was too cold

These times flow so slow

And I keep walking

Her kiss seems to had been

A couple centuries ago

Sleepy cats and dogs along the path

Maybe one of them got the heart in it’s mouth

Ate it

But I’ve got to keep walking

Following the raindrops

I’ve stared at her eyes for a long time

Purple, absorving the color of my shirt

White, absorving the color of my teeth

Mouth and skin

–So soft, so fragrant–

Little Bird became

Another silhouette on the window

My horns are strong at least

Antlers, like a Wendigo

Well, if I could choose

I would like to see this life in black and white

But the world ain’t divided in

Doves and crows

Little Bird

Her skin is my canvas

My white cloth

Too long i’ve been thinking

About your smile of sadness

And ‘bout your eyes

They’re like the lonely moon upon

I have lots and lots of questions but a wise man

Sung once

Answers are blowing in the wind

Horror movie all stars

Cover your feet

Pink and pale

Drank a little whisky

Ale, half a bottle

Talked to friends

And when the night was pitch black

I’d asked

“D’you saw a heart upon the path? A monocromatic one.”

I’d cleanse my skin with the rivers you cried

But no

I’d rather keep walking

The stars tell me were to go

I eat bad dreams and drink raindrops

And the I keep walking

Played with little children

Argue with some adults

But in the end

The Wilderness is my true path

Forests, lakes, tundras and islands

There are broken chains

In the beginning of any path

I would like to took off those boots

And step on a carpet of brown leaves

And clean my soul, heart and skin

In the purest lake of all.

The sound of a lovesick heart is like a Tru Bass

Pulsing into darkwaves

Calling me

To the forest but...

The city still around

Heartless and cold

Carbonic Like me

But I keep walking

I keep walking 

Tropical Cyclone 3 1 20 1 18 9 14 1

D’you remember that day when

We drank black licorice?

Hiding ourselves from your dadda, girl

‘cause he ain’t approve my hair nor my horns

O alcaçuz secava a boca

Mas sempre se prova que a boca seca

Também tem o seu sabor

 Hey Little Bird, your feathers made a Tropical Cyclone

Crushing all the area around

But the lawmen took you away from my horns, teeths and nails

And now, I kinda feel sad
But not so sad, in fact
It happens more often

When the summer wind blows telling his stories

That are supposed to be shared between a Little Bird and a Horned Man

Os velhos sons de piano

E tristes roupas de crianças

Se refletiram nos meus óculos e nos seus olhos Little Bird

 And it’s always the same damned thing

They forced me to spit it out

Your kiss out of my mouth

 Two birds are totally still on top of that wire

It could be us if the lawmen didn’t had eyes to see over the top of the mountains

He knows that you drink licorice

And I drink gasoline

Your heart is so big all the time, Bird

But sometimes my heart is really mean

We’re not allowed but we can prove

That dry mouths can have flavour as well

O vento sopra e prova

O gosto dos lábios de todos

E decide com o tempo se manda suas brisas geladas

Ou conta suas aventuras de verão

 I imagine you layed down, covered in licorice for me

On a continental shelf, moving without motion

Smiling without showing your teeth, girl

But can a Horned Man follow all those sad clues?

 Tell me who’s the one sitting at your side now

My cyclone

The church people said that i’m now free of you

But the freedom isn’t a gift that we give only to people that say “I Love You”?

Even god herself can see that my horns can perfurate everything

Our love is a thing once begotten

Lost in the canvas that is your red blouse

Stained by that black licorice

And when we said nothing

Little Bird

We were saying everything

But now we’re nothing but Ghosts

 The storm is far away, but right now I’m planting flowers everywhere

To attract butterflies

Cause if they beat their wings over and over

Maybe the Chaos Theory work

The butterfly effect take course and finally...

May the Tropical Cyclone be back

Only for me.

The Riptide

  Boa noite, ele me disse quando sentou-se ao meu lado, saindo da névoa de Bishop’s Lane. A casa estava vazia e a maré e a névoa lambiam nossos pés descalços, uma lua cinzenta bem longe, um coro de náiades nos rios.

 É sempre estranho encontrar esse homem. Amável, ainda que perverso. Alguns o chamam de ilusão, outros mais letrados talvez o chamem de ID.

  Dois copos e uma cortina verde esmeralda, ruínas de um teatro ou coisa assim, não sei mais, já sofremos tantas mudanças. Ele tem cheiro, como a noite tem cheiro e você não consegue descrever com exatidão. Acho que a casa foi aquele teatro onde o vi pela primeira vez, mas sem as cortinas cor de sangue e sem a maior parte das paredes, o mar ali quebra nas pedras, as pedras requebram no mar. Existe uma corrente forte nesse mar sobrenatural, não sei onde eu estou, mas não quero saber, ele está aqui comigo.

  Ah sim. Ele se chama Santiago.

   Santiago sentou-se ao meu lado quando os sinos bateram uma hora não euclidiana, seu rosto irradiava um sorriso há muito esquecido. Há muito tempo não nos falamos de verdade. Cruzou as mãos diante da boca, o brilho azul esverdeado do mar refletindo suas lunetas escuras e seus dentes. Ele parecia alto, melancólico e saudoso, mas era sempre assim. Inclinei a cabeça para trás e contemplei o céu, não havia nenhuma aurora no alto.

Fico triste por isso.

  –Podia ser grato –ele dizia –pela dor que você me faz passar e crescer como uma rosa em chão congelado. Como as Fúrias de Rose Madder, eu retribuo o que você me dá. Mas logo nós dois vamos encontrar a corrente do mar, quem sabe vamos desaparecer no tempo, quem sabe as areias do tempo lembrarão nosso nome.

  Santiago deve ter nascido junto comigo, há longos 21 anos atrás, mas eu o devorei, como um gêmeo devora o outro dentro do ventre. Porém ele teimou em aparecer naquela hora, com sua roupa longa, suas mãos manchadas e seus olhos de Tundra. Tão diferente do que era quando surgiu em minha mente, tocando meu coração com seu punhal e o apertando de dentro para fora, como a fruta dentro da casca. Ele tremia com o frio, peguei a cortina e cobri seus ombros.

–Não sei se eu devo te chamar de pai ou de irmão. –Eu disse.

–Que tal “filho”. –Ele replicou.

–Não tenho idade pra ter filhos, Santiago

–Você está mais velho, talvez mais sábio, o tempo não para aqui fora. Mas logo logo a corrente virá, de dentro do mar, e vai nos mostrar o caminho a seguir, você não se sente mais só porque se encontrou, e isso é importante garoto. Tão importante quanto respirar, esse mar formado pelas lágrimas dos perdidos, nunca deixe-o tocar seu coração, nem se aproximar da sua boca. Ele é tóxico,serve apenas para banhar os pés.

As ruínas não são as mesmas, estão sempre em muda, um dia foram repletas de estátuas, agora estão bem maiores, as estátuas viraram pó, eu tomei um gole de gim, ele também. O ar estava claro, a noite limpa, somente a fumaça de Bishop’s Lane e o mar cobria nossos pés descalços. Eu realmente não me sentia só.

–O que você tem pra mim hoje, Santiago?

–Nada, só queria te ver, mesmo que teus amigos ou conhecidos sumam, só queria te dizer que eu ainda estou aqui, eu ensinei para o tesouro que você me deu que dentro de nós existe algo que vale a pena lutar, não pelas coisas do lado de fora, mas pela eterna transformação do nosso eu. Talvez o mistério permaneça pelo tempo de onde eu e você surgimos, ou de como terminaremos, mas enquanto alguém, um único ser, amarelo e magro, souber que existimos e levar em frente o que acreditamos, nós não vamos temer as areias do tempo.

  Acho que nesse dia eu e ele ficamos mais próximos. Porque quando ele apareceu eu realmente queria vê-lo. Não senti quando ele pegou em minha mão mas sei que o fez.

–Desculpe se as vezes faço você sofrer demais.

–Não precisa se desculpar, isso é imitação de vida. Quem dera alguém viver de verdade o que você me faz viver. 21 anos de ondas batendo no mar garoto, o tempo é cruel, nos resta aproveitá-lo, você não é mais criança, a maré vai vir junto com ondas altas. Mas estaremos aqui, eu e você. Por todo o tempo que virá, ideias não se perdem, um dia você quis ser eu, e então EU me tornei parte de você, viver uma vida, duas ou três, ter muitas cabeças como uma hidra, cada vez que o mundo lá fora corta uma surgem duas, mais fortes, sábias. Como os nossos antepassados que morreram por nós e nos deram liberdade, brindemos nessa noite, até chegar a próxima, e eu poder abraçar você de verdade no dia em que você chegar na Terra das Sombras ou na Terra dos Sonhos.

Acima de nós algumas constelações brilhavam, não sei se no céu ou eram os olhos das sereias no mar. E eu esperaria até meu sangue correr para o mar, ou a poeira do meu corpo se juntar ao calor simples da terra, mas deixar para trás algo importante, e não levar nada. Levar não importa, o que importa é deixar sementes boas para trás.

 Santiago encheu meu copo com gim.

Encheu meu coração com orgulho.

HAZE

Blues

Makes you moan girl

Evil enchantress of the lost ones

Solitude spellbound

But Little Bird

I’m a skeptical man

I need to touch your feathers

Scent is just not enough anymore

Wipe the blood from your nose

And taste the sweet things I brought for ya

Sweetest meat, fresh brewed grease

Leonard Cohen songs playing in the bar across the street

Ritmic bullets of the bandits and rascals

Haze

Paramount in this night

A lovely cloth of Haze cropped against the orange city lights

Let me know when the movie ends

To stop my bites and listen that beautiful music

Taxi Driver main theme

Our elope theme maybe

Well, let the space and time answer this

Comb your wet hair

Wet by the rainy nights

Reading in bed

Like a cute dove

Laying over the butcher’s board

Little Bird

Your eyes are hungry for the movement in the screen

Sin in technicolor

As Haze scrolls across the screen with her legs show

Waves of people

Blind

Cannot see your glowing feathers Bird

Reflecting the lights of

Red lips

Heart shaped glasses

Cracks in our glasses make everything

Slightly surreal

Blues

So well played

Tru Bass warmed my heart

Ignited all  my senses

Dreams flying high

You can’t even notice sometimes

Daydreaming with yer blue eyes open

In the scenes, frames and shots of Natural Born Killers

As Little Bird watches I listen “27th Avenue Shuffle”, a night made of bloody movies, bloody food and Foxboro Hottubs

Mickey and Mallory

Chalked in your wall

I do too

Enjoy Oliver Stone, Bird

Don’t let it go to your head

Don’t look up to the strings

It’s just for show you know

The blues are your brown hair

And this was the moment where I got shot

Bird, would you drink my wine?

You did this to buy some time

Think well Little, Little Bird

We have a large ruby room

You could be my valentine

Use your baby talk like Emily Haines said in that, sexy , sexy song

We could elope tonight

And no one will ask or think where

The dark side of night ends

Because all those blind crowds doesn’t want to know

Where the wild things go. 

Lorelei

Saw Lorelei at the front row

Caffeine-free beverage in her hands

All alone, those lost burned star eyes

Waiting for some help

Holding on belief that

Help is on the way

To throw you a bone

To help ya to clean those

Faux indie clothes

Walk out Lorelei, to long hazy streets

Glisten and sparkle like fuddle eyes

Under the Harvest Moon

Raw sugar mouth of yours, Lorelei

–Spiced and fragrant–

Those lies that boys told you haunt your brain

Like ghosts in the midway

Head to the meeting place

“Collect Call” play in waves

Push your fingers in your eyes

See the Harvest Moon

Don’t let the inner fire wane or

How d’you gonna keep yourself warm?

I’m not offering myself to help, but...

Just saw Lorelei

Looked at her above my

Laird Koenig book

Shabby and rotten

Lorelei, tell me

Are you a Hustle Rose?

Life trimmed between your fingers, Lorelei

Tight noose in every breath

Don’t cry Lorelei

I know it’s tough to be tender

Tough to pretend that you can’t feel anything

Sick Muse of the lost

In the guts of this islanded city

Dark and hot

Red and pink

Blondes and fantasies

Lucille notes in C minor

Roaming through the air

A friend’s voice saying loudly

But far away

Mex Cow is a nice kind of Girl

Look at me

I’ll look away

My harmonica’s all wet

By your saliva, Lorelei

Tough to be tender but you can make it

As you can imagine that

Dry branches look exactly like

Skeleton hands

Trying to grab your hair in the still of the night

Hang Your Heart on a Crane

  

  Why the coat, Little Bird?

 Out there is raining but the cold only comes when

Your heart allows

 I never understand why this cellphone of yours

Only plays the same song

In an endless repeat.

Some masterpiece from

Christian Gaubert

  Those current voices come from here, Little Bird?

Our, unimaginable ventriloquism

Talking without words

Like two wizards

Reading our fates in poor

Coffee stains

We think the fate is a joke

Until we look inside our own eyes

  Wipe this soda from my lips

No hands allowed

A little bit hard to think properly

Like a sane man

When those blue eyes of yours stare at me

Light me like a lens flare

My cellphone plays

Mind Mischief from Tame Impala

Expound in sounds all I want to do

From here on out

  Why the coat, Little Bird?

The wind maker is asleep

In this dusk only you and me

Exists and are aware

Sit here in my easy chair

Put your hand over mine

Feel my Tesla Coil skin

It’s not supposed to be romantic, ye know?

  Browned hair Bird

The color that never fails

To turn a man blue

How you can spend all your energy during the day

And still gather everything you need?

  Like an old blues

Coming rapidly

You came Little Bird

Playing the victim to me

While I know

We both are thugs and thieves waiting

To draw beautiful landscapes

With the blood of the innocents.

  And every girl that I talk while I’m around

Seems the ghost of a ghost

They do not shine like a Little Bird

Nor cause a damned rackety explosion

When they sing

  Little Bird

Your Mamma and Dadda

Will put your money in the desperate marble

Bank balcony

You’ll never see it again

  So pay your debt and lick

These cigarette ashes from my floor while

I grab your heart

And hang it on the highest crane

And I think that you cannot see

How nice I’m being

  Warm bed, warm meal

Place your head in my pillow

And take

Your science fiction books

That’s all that you need

  We met last year, Girl

Three hundred and sixty four tears ago, Bird

Every year i’m gonna tell you the same tale, Girl

But I wonder

If I go faster and faster why I cannot get rid

Of your

Blue, Blurred, Teeth crooking, lens flare enlightening , submachine gun shooter, bone breaker, heart booster, eyes.

  Why the coat, Little Bird

The icy fog came again?

The serpent soul pinchers?

So enter my house with your shiniest pair of shoes

But take off your eyelashes to talk to me. 

Burial Services In The Rain

  Her tea was so tasty.

 Little Bird told me while we looked to the grey sky. Clump around us so quiet, almost a Graveyard Shift and nothing could break this hush. Nor the lawmen or He Who Walk Behind the Rows. Shovel was not heavy, the bodies too. But Little bird is Little, so I had to carry both.

 My horns hurts me when i lay my head down. Now I had to.

  Had to ask.

 What was the tea flavor?

 Little Bird smiles, so pretty, crooked tooth in a crimson gum. Mamma and Dadda liked to beat in the face so you won’t be pretty enough for a boyfriend? I asked.

 She nods yes and suddenly.

 Her  tea tasted like potassium cyanide with truth serum, but believe me Horned Man, when I was a Little Little Girl, Mamma and Dadda fucked so loud that I had to raise up the tv sound. This moment remind me of “My Favorite Things” from Mary Poppins.

 Bury a body is not easy but the earth is always hungry, I could use my horns but it will hurt even more. Little Bird doesn’t know how to use a shovel. The police cars will never come, the lawmen will never guess. The rain will cover us and the fog is now our lover.

 The fog won’t take our good grapes, the fog will embrace us instead. But we will not be safe until the last portion of dirty covers the last bit os skin and teeth.

 This marriage consummated with blood, enlaced and trapped between the insane hug of two lovers.  Mamma and Dadda won’t be able to talk furthermore. So we can rest in peace when lay our heads in the pillow.

 Little Bird trust me, you cannot open your eyes in the light or God will make you blind, I know that hurts because the horn is sharp but believe me.

 He who makes himself a beast gets rid of the pain of being human.

 Birds do not have horns, but birds have very sharp beaks, and some even eat their own deceased. With some barbiturates cocktails.

  Being beated again and again and again was so awful Little Bird, get rid of this memory, something good tonight will make you forget ‘bout this for awhile.

 I’ll help you.

 You have to, or they’ll catch me and I’ll catch hell with my blues. I do not have shoes, only the spurs that you carved on my flesh.

I helped you with the tea and now I’ll help you under this cold rain.

  I wish there’s music here, nature produces music but I want hear something from Christian Gaubert. C’Est Bon D’Etrê Bien Dans Sa Peau.

 I’ll sing for you and the works goes faster.

  The shovel was heavy but the weight that comes in the shoulders is even more heavy. Effort to bury the past worths only when future is bright as a thousand suns. The cross on your neck is only iron if YOU do not create a meaning to it. Like the horns embedded on my head. A few can see, because they know the meaning.

Oh yeah
Life is bad
Gloom and misery everywhere
Stormy weather, stormy weather
And I just can get my poor self together
Oh I'm weary all of the time
The time, so weary all of the time

  Tell me about your desires, carve your wishes in this letters that no one will read, there’s no sense in wander around searching for yourself. Only the mirror have answers that you looking for, Little Bird is your inner self, these horns in my head are my inner self. They all show us the direction, to the Northern Lights.

 Lead to see and to wonder, because love is to wonder twice.

In each pistol shot or knife lunge.

  Mamma and Dadda are gone. But you still have your pistols, forks and knives. The rain washs us and the fog protects us. We shall carry this burden ‘cause carry is our fate. Midnight Boom will come, but when it comes we’ll be so far away. Little Bird dressed in that djellabah covered in blood, something so beautiful it hurts. Dirt turning into mud under our feet, soft as Mamma meat when I put my horns into her belly. She broke my arm. The fog will take care of me and the rain will bless me with her balm.

 The math is really simple.

Ask us no questions and we’ll won’t tell you lies. Ask us too many and, oh boy, somebody will die.

  I’ll build a house for two, you can come someday to have a dinner with us.

  You also can have a lovely tea with us. Sodium Pentothal is so yummi with cream crackers, I’d love to see you eat sixteen without liquid and the food slicing up your throat. So good that brings a tear to your eye. Scopolamine mixed with coffee and some cookies. A tablespoon of sugar helps the medicine goes down.

  Don’t get to close of this cage, man. She’s the hardest button to button. Last part of dirt in this turf, let’s get the hell outa here Little Bird, the lawmen must know already.  Get on my horns and let the wind kiss us, the rain anoint us. City is yellow now. Will you take this djellabah for me?

  Sometimes the rain comes, sometimes the breeze hit the fire, sometimes the rocks on the way are too big, but when this happens I use my horns to remove ‘em.

 They’re gone, this brings hope and the love. Can you sustain a lie and say out loud: I was out of control?

  Well, there’s no turning back.

This was the last twist of the horn.

The last twist of the beak eating through my heart. 

Strangers in a Rainy Night

  

  She’s walking down the lane, i saw it. I saw it and my mouth start to salivate, blonde baby, crooked tooth. So lonesome, baking a birthday cake for herself, i wish i had some fingers more to count her years. Blonde head covered, moroccan dress. So lonesome again in the birthday/halloween night. Sleepy girl, i’ll be outside your door, getting rid of the ghosts and goblins.

 Choose very carefully.

Trick or treat?

 Hey blondie, do you think it is easy to hide a body?

I dunno.

Well it is not, bring me one and quickly, i know you can, ever read the Tell Tale Heart? Sharp senses makes wonders. Nice feet yours, spurs do good craved in your flesh, can you guess when i’m joking or, when i’m being just hypothetical, folky girl, may i be the outsider, you’ll decide what to call me.

Call me Tommynocker.

Why?

Call me Langolier.

WhyWhy?

I am the beast that god sends to attack the innocent and the not so innocent. I want to drink the blood of the lovers and the tireds. The blood of the backstabbers, the betrayers and the rascals and the sinners. 

Call me sorts of names, even Legion if you like. You sound rude and rough blondie, but hey, that’s the way i appreciate. Let me light a fire, not a fire fire, i’m talking ‘bout A fire, a big one, to consume you and me. So, you’d found the body? 

Good. Let’s go out.

Do you like music? I’m seeing you do. So, Chopin for us.

Rainy clouds covered up the sunny sky, i’ll open the grave.

OkiDoki.

So, your mamma and dadda spank you every night and thats why you walk so sadly down the lane, and you poisoned then with, oh, i see, a overdose of acepromazine, kinda fair, kinda not. Hear the saxes and keys, that will make you feel better, let’s work now and you’ll cry later, but if you want to hide those bodies better be quickly. Shovel and dirty. The end baby, is already upon us, the end is really nigh.

How d’ya know?

Space and time are not the same, dusk is now here and this tea have absolutely no flavor. Who’s older, you or me?

 We have the same age, depending the flow of time and space, if entropy strikes now, i can run away from this passive matter state, if entropy strikes now, you can have your Nova Baby, remember? The one who put you in the fire and so.

 Pity and love once had the honor seats at my table, now, they’re just despicable and unnecessary. But i wonder when i look at you. Sociopath or just a survivor?

 When i look at you, a lot of questions pop up. May we let the dusk tell us, it’s a lovely, cozy Rainy Night, we can enjoy it.

 Hear the saxes and keys. The end is really nigh, the end is here and now.

 I’m sure that if few people come in here, even fewer go out. That’s why this djellabah is coverd in blood, as your skin, inviting me to lick it as if consequences did not existed.

 You’re a cause and an effect, chaos and order. Iteration and fractal. Yummi and bitter, with or without djellabah.

What is your little secret, little girl?

 Everybody who knows is dead.

Don’t worry ‘bout that, i’m dead already, Langolier, Tommyknocker,  God’s Beast, or the voice of conscience in your head, as i said. I have a lot of names. And, please quote me on that, thank heaven for all the little girls, and thank heaven for the girl who lives down the lane. 

Wow, take easy with this milk baby.

Drink if you think i am beautiful.

  

What was in that turquoise cup, blondie?

 Acepromazine

Lights are fading blondie. Secret secured.

 Good night blondie.

Travel well.