Oneironautical Histories

I befriend a fox. I give her a name. I cannot remember it. I skin her for fur and repent -- I weep. I give her to Mother to mount, but I tell her nothing: she cannot know I have killed, at least in part, for pleasure.

Peruvian sketch comedy spoofs terrorism before the government comes clean about it. A boy -- a brother of mine -- finds a scrap of the story on his tongue while diving in a lake.

We are drunk. M. Villa's party takes place at a library. I slouch -- then, a view from above. Every man has a red couch for himself. Some of them sip quietly. Nobody says a thing; we are to leave soon. We look at paintings. "Is this L. Gullo?" somebody asks. It is. I am proud, though I know him only through his art.

A race through the lake in the early morn. My love is partaking. I watch. People I know are there, but I cannot remember them. They set off and I turn my back. When it is done, somebody asks me, "Have you seen him?" I do not bother to look over. "He must be over there," I say. He has burdened his pockets with stones.

Tender Ghosts

These are the ones I love.

Alexandros o Megas

Gilles de Rais, butcher of boys

Alessandro Moreschi, Vatican pet

Antinous, Hadrian's Greek slave

Marlene Dietrich

Ludwig II, the Mad King of Bavaria

Wilfred Owen and the seed of Europe

Percy Bysshe Shelley, brilliant soul

Violet and Daisy Hilton, joined at the hip

The fictional Patricia Braden

Alexander Pichushkin

Oscar Wilde, posing somdomite, love of my life, &c.