I Don't Care What People Come At

I Just Think It's A Great World To Tell Stories In, To Tell Cool Stories: Money, Sex, Fame, And Scandal. Those Are Great Subject Matters To Work With.

I Stand, Walk Over To Him, Sit Down On His Bed, Put My Arms Around Him, Hug Him. He Hugs Me Back Strong And I Can Feel The Shame Coming Through His Arms. I Am A Criminal And He Is A Judge And I Am White And He Is Black, But At This Moment None Of That Matters. He Is A Man Who Needs A Friends And I Can Be His Friend.

I Want A Drink. I Want Fifty Drinks. I Want A Bottle Of The Purest, Strongest, Most Destructive, Most Poisonous Alcohol On Earth. I Want Fifty Bottles Of It. I Want Crack, Dirty And Yellow And Filled With Formaldehyde. I Want A Pile Of Powder Meth, Five Hundred Hits Of Acid, A Garbage Bag Full Of Mushrooms, A Tube Of Glue Bigger Than A Truck, A Pool Of Gas Large Enough To Drown In. I Want Something Anything Whatever However As Much As I Can.

The Past Doesn't Matter. People Cling To It Because It Allows Them To Ignore The Present.

I Love The Process Of Being Alone In A Room.