Death Is The Room That Is Always

No Amount Of Reading And Intelligent Deduction Could Supplant The Direct Experience.

I Must Fight With My Weapons. Not His. Not Selfishness And Brutality And Shame And Resentment.

To Write Poetry And To Commit Suicide, Apparently So Contradictory, Had Really Been The Same, Attempts At Escape.

The More Abhorrent A News Item The More Comforting It Was To Be The Recipient, Since The Fact That It Had Happened Elsewhere Proved That It Had Not Happened Here, Was Not Happening Here, And Would Therefore Never Happen Here.

And I Just Can't Live In This Present. I Would Go Mad If I Did.