Hatred Is The Air I Breathe. It

Unlike The Vast Majority Of People, I've Been Locked In A Box Like An Animal And I've Also Been On The Receiving End Of Bloody Thrashings, So I Feel Uniquely Qualified To Judge Which Is Worse.

Most Of Those Who Spend Their Lives As Critics Secretly Wish They'd Be Considered Important Enough For Someone To Bother Criticizing Them.

San Francisco, America's B-movie Imitation Of Paris. San Francisco, The City That Ruined Punk Rock. San Francisco, The Most Intolerant Place In The Country.

I Think That 99% Of The Snipers Who Take Shots At Me From Electronic Foxholes Also Realize They Could Never Withstand The Sort Of Public Disparagement, Nor The Revelation Of So Many Personal Details, That I've Endured For Years And Still Remain As Impenitent, Obnoxious, And Ready To Argue All Critics Into The Dirt As I Am. I Think This Also Jacks Up Their Hatred Level, Because They Realize They'd Never Be So Strong-willed.

One Day Scientists Will More Fully Understand The Chemistry And Neuro-circuitry That Differentiates Love From Lust. I Couldn't Begin To Explain The Mechanics, But I Know That They Feel Differently.