By '87, we'd had enough of London. Its streets had turned out to be paved with just enough gold to take out a mortgage on a small house at a substantial remove from work, from where it was at, and from the kind of green fields that somewhat older children would probably want to frolic in one day if they weren't to eventually succumb to a life of ( Read more... )

It used to annoy me no end when people referred to me as a goth. Did people have to pigeon-hole every black-bedecked maiden with nails noir as la nuit, a bad dye job and purple lipstick? The only times I've lingered in graveyards were to get out of cross-country practice, and besides, I like the sun. Couldn't they see I was an individual, not "a" ( Read more... )