There is a garden in the dark hunger of his psyche where forbidden fruit grows.
Be careful when you go out into the surf in a skimpy thong... the current can be treacherous and turbulent as is the human heart!
Secret number... secret shape... knower of the secret name... God of the realm of night - I summon you, 'Son of Sin'... arise!
Ripe fruit in sweaty socks; soft eyes, stained and suffering in the origin of consciousness, and a soul needing refrigeration, for it has nearly gone bad!
The Vagabond...what does he seek? - ask the River, ask the Wind - but don't ask Him!
Playwright and performance artist Marc Arthur paves a color-saturated path from 'awake consciousness' to sleeping 'dreamscape'.
A hell of a lot more of you through a keyhole!!
Masked men prowling in the bushes and not touching anything but satin, dandelions and flesh.
