Describe A Circle, Stroke Its Back And

To Me The World Seems Grotesque, Absurd, Ridiculous, Painful.

Oh Righteous Doom, That They Who Make Pleasure Their Only End, Ordering The Whole Life For Its Sake, Miss That Whereto They Tend. While They Who Bid Stern Duty Lead, Content To Follow, They, Of Duty Only Taking Heed, Find Pleasure By The Way.

God Is Dead. Marx Is Dead. And I Don't Feel So Well Myself.

Language Should Almost Break Up Or Explode In Its Fruitless Effort To Contain So Many Meanings.

Since The Death Instinct Exists In The Heart Of Everything That Lives, Since We Suffer From Trying To Repress It, Since Everything That Lives Longs For Rest, Let Us Unfasten The Ties That Bind Us To Life, Let Us Cultivate Our Death Wish, Let Us Develop It, Water It Like A Plant, Let It Grow Unhindered. Suffering And Fear Are Born From The Repression Of The Death Wish.