Sagging dust-saturated white cloth, over which, rusted armor, Saint George upon the crest; a man not young, not old, greying temples, furrowed brow; his smile full of weltschmerz, his steel blue eyes gazing down upon the sophistry of multitudinous dreamers who dream of the lottery in Babylon—conformity has gone mad with individualism. -Aaron DeWeese
No comments:
Post a Comment