As To The Rest, I Am No

Dear Jesus, Do Something.

Do What Only A True Artist Can Do ... Pounce Upon The Forgotten Butterfly Of Revelation

My God Died Young. Theolatry I Found Degrading, And Its Premises, Unsound. No Free Man Needs God; But Was I Free?

Between The Age Limits Of Nine And Fourteen There Occur Maidens Who, To Certain Bewitched Travelers, Twice Or Many Times Older Than They, Reveal Their True Nature Which Is Not Human, But Nymphic (that Is, Demoniac); And These Chosen Creatures I Propose To Designate As Nymphets.

All Colors Made Me Happy: Even Gray. My Eyes Were Such That Literally They Took Photographs.