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Quote by J. Tonzelli

“The last clear thought I have is of my grandmother’s rust-colored wall clock ticking away in the darkness of my apartment—my sanctuary where I dreamed and desired and hoped for goodness and love. I wonder how long that clock will tick without anyone around to hear it. I wonder if maybe I should have taken my grandmother’s silverware or jewelry instead. I wonder – if I knew then what I know now – if I still would have approached Jade that first night and invited her into my life, only to watch as she took it from me and fed it to some Godless thing, as my mother had called it. Would I still have given myself over to her, knowing it would end the same way, with the barbaric flicker of hope that this time she could love me?”

Quote by J. Tonzelli

Work

The End of Summer: Thirteen Tales of Halloween

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J. Tonzelli

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“When i remember your name i know you are my hope. for what ? not for love... 'cause i know you can't love me. but i know you are my hope for... Life. Just remembering your smile... i know you are my world you shaping my world that became like this... you are my story Not to be told, But to remember... i love you and... I miss you now i miss my world i miss your face, your smile and your voice I miss you more than anyone that I've ever met -For Enno Indi WP-”

“Kaiverrat sormesi niskaani ja harot hiuksiini, kourasi harhailevat selkääni pitkin alas ja kyljen läpi vatsalle, annat kovaksi paisuneen ikäväsi kämmeneeni ja ihooni kaikkialle pujotat arvoituksellisia kuvioita kysyvin, kuuntelevin sormin, apua, katso, sinä, minä, sinä minä se olen, pelkkää raivoisaa janoa, epätoivoista hakemista, kolkutusta, kunnes hukumme toisiimme.”

“And in fact the artist's experience lies so unbelievably close to the sexual, to its pain and its pleasure, that the two phenomena are really just different forms of one and the same longing and bliss. And if instead of "heat" one could say "sex";- sex in the great, pure sense of the word, free of any sin attached to it by the Church, - then his art would be very great and infinitely important. His poetic power is great and as strong as a primal instinct; it has its own relentless rhythms in itself and explodes from him like a volcano.”