This seemingly ramshackle collection of poems by one Damian Love forms part of a dusty lyrical treasure trove I, Richard James, stumbled across in a half-lit Parisian dungeon in the Year of Our Lord 1984.

The identity of the author was, and is, a rather nebulous one, causing countless scholars, scribes, librarians, alchemists and grimoire hunters to take leave of their senses.

All I know is I am glad I was able to retrieve at least some of Damian Love’s work and share it with you all right here.

Finally, dear reader, please note that these scribblings and dabblings have sent major minds mad and bad and that some documents shared here may well display art and images, words and phrases one might deem offensive.

So forewarned is forearmed, let’s try to unravel at least some titbit of the enticing that is Damian Love.